The Forgotten One

Chapter Five

I've always been afraid of the dark and what's within it. Back at home and in the privacy of my own room, I never did anything to calm my nerves. I never needed to turn a lamp on when I went to sleep, but the knowledge of there being one there just in case I needed it, comforted me.

Waking up in a place like a hospital, the echoes of even the smallest of noises kept me awake. After slowly lifting my hands up to rub my eyes, I reach out to turn the lamp on. Unable to find one and coming to the conclusion that there was no lamp, I sat up and looked around the dark room.

There was an odd occasion that people were to walk by my room, the footsteps and quiet murmurs could be heard from underneath the shut door, followed by a light that quickly fades when they pass. Mother had told me to never leave the room as there was no reason to. A bathroom was located on the left, all the necessities were already with me on the chair within my bag. Besides my phone or laptop.

When mum had told me that she'd taken my phone and laptop with her back home, I had questioned her. Watching Netflix whilst stuck in this bed seemed like a good idea, a quick way of passing the time. But that had been denied, she thought it was best that people couldn't contact me. She believed that if people, some of which I have no memory of, had contacted me, it would push me over the edge.

Apparently, the doctors and nurses of Methrow hospital thought that I had responded pretty calmly to the fact that my brain had suffered immense trauma. No fainting, no cursing, no panic attack. Just an occasional "oh" and asking the right questions at the right time. I figured that if I had forgotten anything important, I would have been told or, I would have received a visit.

But I've had no visitors besides my mum. And as for Peter, the last time he had visited me was the day that he had stormed out and said some.. very accusing things. Glancing down at my wrist, the arrow points to five. Visiting hours start at ten am, so I have a while until my mother charges through those doors and asks the same repetitive question I've heard from every single person who walks through those irritating doors.

Fighting back the urge to yawn, I push the scratchy blankets off my legs and stand up. Crossing my arms over my chest to create warmth, I tip toe towards the window. With each breath I take, condensation appears upon the glass. Looking out and into the corridor, people who work night shifts can be seen fluttering about room to room. Some of which look tired, like they haven't slept in days, whilst others whisper to colleagues quietly laughing under their breath. The window feels cold beneath my palm, as I place my left hand flush against the window.

A nurse walks past, carrying a large bag in her right hand. It must be heavy, her body is slightly tilted off to the side causing a strand of hair to continuously fall in front of her face. With every few steps she takes, she pauses to blow hair back to its proper position before continuing on walking straight past my window.

Taking a step back and retracting my hand, I walk back further into my room to avoid the nurse from seeing me out of bed and not following their 'strict guidelines'. Light begins to start shining through the window, but not enough to see perfectly. Once my knees hit the bed I lay down and fiddle with my fingers, anything to pass the time. Usually laying down and going back to sleep would be my first choice, but whenever I shut my eyes all that appears in front of me is darkness. Darkness is normal when someone closes their eyes, but it isn't normal when a person tries to think of a life altering memory but instead comes up with nothing. Darkness doesn't happen when thinking of the past 6 months and coming up blank.