Erase Herゾごホ

愛 - love

Sanguine. To be optimistic of positive in an exceptionally bad or difficult situation.

To say I was sanguine would be a blatant lie. But I mean how else should anyone in my situation feel? I woke up in a place I don't know, surrounded by doctors and nurses that I don't know, alone.

I sat in a bed I had never been in, wrapped by itchy blankets that really provided no warmth at all and pillows that decompressed so fast they couldn't even be considered comfortable. But most importantly, I was alone. My brain felt like it was overworking itself as I was reminded of the disaster that had put me in the here and informed I had been in a deep coma for three days. Three days. I had shown no signs of ever waking, but here I am. Sitting in a cold bed, being touched by people in rubber gloves, who poked and prodded my body frantically without any kind of consent.

I was told I may never walk again. That my legs and my spine had been shattered, split, broken. That it was a miracle they didn't need amputating.

The cuts on my hands had been so deep, nerve damage had been done into some of my fingers. They have hopes it will heal, maybe even a surgery to fix it, but for the time being there will be mild discomfort while trying to use something as simple as my hands.

Brain damage.

"Some things might be seen as foggy or hard to understand for you since you had major trauma to your skull, and ultimately your brain. Have someone you trust help you with your day to day tasks."

I listened to the doctors rambling, his advice, his diagnosis, with a blank look on my face. Someone I trust? Day to day tasks? I frowned, feeling more and more overwhelmed as the doctor continually droned on about the do's and dont's of recovery. I might not be able to walk again? My gaze floated down to my legs that were covered by some flimsy white sheets. All the things I wouldn't be able to do without walking, all the places I couldn't go. I gently ran my bandaged fingers against my knees. Nothing. A horrified gasp escaped my lips and my hands retracted back into my chest. My life was falling apart in front of my very eyes and there was not a single thing I could do about it.

"You're a hero."

I looked up at the old doctor who gave me a sympathetic smile with his kind words. Hero?

"You saved that girls life with your invention and many others who were still inside the shopping center." He sighed, taking off his gloves and sticking his hand out for me to shake. I numbly took his offer, his hand wrapping around mine gently as he was mindful of my injuries. The other nurses and doctors surrounding my bedside all bowed in my direction. "Young people like you give me hope for the future." The man with my hand said once more. Hero. What a strange and distant word. Is this what it means to be a hero? Waking up in an unfamiliar room, surrounded by people you've never met, broken and barely alive?

I swallowed hard, nodding my head and shaking the mans hand as the people in minty green scrubs all smiled softly at me one by one before leaving. Leaving me alone. More alone than I was five minutes ago that is. I idly picked at the white bandages around my fingers, wincing at the slight pain shooting through my muscles. A hero, huh? Tears brimmed my eyes as I squeezed my hand shut, ignoring the stinging heat running through my skin. I don't feel like a hero, I didn't even feel like one when I was trapped inside that crumbling mall. I felt normal. I felt scared. Scared that I would never see the light of day again, terrified that I would never see him again. And yet, I lived. I lived to feel the same way I did when I was trapped underneath a falling building. Terrified and alone. Is this how being a hero works?

The sound of the door to my room opening made me jump, my eyes shooting over to the tired looking man who had a pastry hanging out of his mouth and a cup of coffee in his free hand. My lips parted at his presence, the loneliness that was kindling in my chest dissipating slowly. His black sweater was pulled down to his wrists this time (he must've been cold), his hair wrapped in a messier-than-usual bun, with frazzled strands of black framing his pale face. His eyebrows furrowed together and his eyes softened almost instantly as he pushed into my room, tossing his breakfast on a table in a corner somewhere, lunging forward. His arms wrapped around me, his hand cupping the back of my head and his lips pressing into the crook of my neck. My hands trembled violently as they circled his torso while I exhaled, my breath coming out shaky and uneven with a slight ache in my ribs. His arms around my shoulders felt heavy, but I wasn't going to stop him. I needed this. I needed him.