Sleeping Beauty

Chapter 4

America

Hour after hour passed. All of them were long and lonely. Two days, five days, ten days. He disappeared just like my parents had and I had no idea why. So I just sat there and waited.

I thought about the volunteer boy. I sang all the songs he had sang to me over and over again. I run my fingers through my dark hair and walk around in circles. I try to imagine what he looks like. Blonde hair, tan skin, hazel eyes. Somewhat muscular, but not like bodybuilder on steroids muscular and about six foot.

But for some reason, the more I think about it, the less I believe my description. For some reason I picture red hair and blue eyes and tons of freckles on his pale skin. I drop the muscular part because he never once mentioned playing any sports, but keep the use of him being tall, but now I picture him as tall, skinny, and kind of clumsy instead of strong and confident.

Then I sat and counted until I couldn't count anymore. I tried to remember what the sky looked like and what birds chirping sounded like and how drinking hot chocolate and sitting in front of the fireplace after playing in the snow felt like, but the worst part was, that I couldn't.

Waiting eventually got boring. I started to feel awful and my head was pounding. I stood up in my endless room and tried to walk it off, but everything just got worse and worse. Beads of sweat decorated my forehead. I was a mess. All I could think about was Shawn and how he didn't want me anymore. It seemed no one wanted me at all. My breathing got shallow as I thought the disturbing thoughts, and before I knew it, I was suffocating. I fell on my knees and clawed at my throat, willing for air to rush through it, but none came. I fell on my side and stopped trying to live.

...

There were people standing around me. Maybe two or three. I was back in my room and breathing again, although I couldn't decide if that was a good thing or bad thing.

A male voice shoots through my ears. "Has anything changed in the past week. Her diet, medication, physical behavior..."

A woman's voice replies. "None that I could think of."

I hear something clicking, like a pen and I will whoever is doing it to stop, but of course they can't hear me.

A deeper man's voice fills the empty silence. "She did have a volunteer come a couple weeks ago, but he hasn't been showing up."

The female voice's laughter ring  through the room. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

I hear papers being shuffled. "She showed improvement while this boy was here and then everything went downhill after he left. I don't believe it's mere coincidence."

The other man speaks. "The possibility for her to have developed an attachment to him the few days he was here is possible, I guess." He pauses for so long, I don't think he is going to continue, but he does. "I guess when he didn't come back, she had an emotional breakdown or panic attack in which her body completely shut down."

The lady speaks again. "So what I'm hearing is we have to call the volunteer back in?"

The man who just spoke replies. "You heard correctly."

I finally catch onto the fact that the other man has an African-American accent when he speaks again. "Good, because that boy was good at singing." There voices fade out and I hear the black guy singing one of Shawn's songs and then someone slaps him and he shuts up.

I guess I cared more about the singing boy than I thought, but as I sat in that hospital bed for hours and hours, I realized the only person I truly cared for was myself and all I really wanted was to not be alone.