Wha-? I think. Oh, right. No memory, lots of pain, car crash, blah, blah, blah. What else is new? I wonder how long I've been out. I ring the bell that's supposed to call in the nurse. She bustles in with my breakfast in her hands. Plop it goes onto the fold-out tray table attached to my bed.
"yes?" she asks.
"How long have I been here," I want to know.
"Five days," she responds, "you were in a pretty bad shape when you got here, but we managed to clean you up pretty good. Do you wanna see?"
"Sure," I say.
She hands me a mirror. I am astonished by the image that greets me. I have not- quite- green eyes, cropped-short reddish hair, a pixie-like turned up nose, and freckles. My mouth is small and pronounced, and my face is long and narrow. You might even call me hansome. Or, I would be if my face didn't look like it had been slashed to ribbons with a knife. I gingerly put a bandaged hand to my scraped face. There is a long, thin cut running from one side of my face to the other, across my left eyebrow, over my nose, and across my right cheek. It is held together with bandages.
"We had to cut off some of your hair, because it was extremely tangled with blood and debris, and that cut is from a piece of the cars' windshield. It lodged itself into your face. In fact, it came so close to your eye, you're lucky you can still see out of it," she tells me.
"I don't think I can eat this," is all I can say, gesturing at my breakfast.
"Don't be silly," she says, "you haven't eaten in almost a week!"
I set to the task of forcing the cheerios and orange juice down my throat, feeling better with every mouthful.
"Thanks," I say.
"So," she tells me, "it'll take a few months for everything to heal and such, but what will you do then? We can't keep you here forever."
"I don't know," I say.
