The Colours We Give | On hold

| 15 |

arashi

I WAKE UP WITH A SEARING PAIN eating its way through my head. Instead of seeing the ordinary white ceiling of my room, a pale blue one comes into view. For a moment, I'm muddled. As I try sitting up, the events that occurred in the night flood into my mind. 

I must be in a hospital. 

The weight of my head pushes me back down. I try using my hands for support, only to realize a hard mass prevents my left hand from touching the mattress. I try wriggling my fingers. They're almost immobile. Bringing my hand closer to my field of vision, I see white plaster wrapped around it, enclosing my entire forearm and fingers partly.

So I've got a broken bone. 

And with my luck, probably a concussion too.

Pushing my body upwards once more, I finally manage to sit straight. I'm beginning to fall back again, so I quickly bring the pillow forward with my free hand. I slowly move and support myself on the wall.

There are more beds next and opposite to mine. Almost all are empty except for three of them which carry sleeping old people and one that has a really small girl receiving drops of saline from a tube. On the sofa of the waiting area, I see Dad knocked out. Saliva trickles down from the corner of his mouth.

I silently laugh, but immediately regret it because of the pain that pricks my head after. I rub my temples. The bandage tied around them begins to irritate my skin subsequently. When I roll my hand over the top of my head, I feel the lump of the dressing sticking out at one spot.

One of the nurses sees me awake and approaches me with a clement smile. "How do you feel?" she asks.

"Okay," I answer. My voice is a little gruff.

"Good," she says, taking a wad of cotton. "Does your head feel a little sore?"

My eyes follow her actions. "Yeah, a bit."

She cuts out a long piece of bandage from its roll and sets it next to the cotton wad. Placing the metal scissors down, she looks at me and smiles. "You bled a little on the head while you were asleep. I need to redress your wound," she elaborates. 

She goes on to take out the bandages from my head. There's more layers than I thought. The entire wrapping is put on the table, releasing the smell of ointment. It's not very strong, but when the nurse open a new bottle, my nostrils give way. I breathe out the stench. The nurse looks at me, giving an understanding smile.

Something wakes up Dad then. He looks around for a few seconds, trying to bring his brain back to focus. As I get my head bandaged again, I watch him slowly rise and stretch his back. His eyes fall on mine. In an instant, he paces over to my bed.

He doesn't speak until the nurse is done with her job. When she is, he thanks her and then comes closer to me. With glowing eyes, he holds my shoulders softly and pats them, like he's scared that his touch will break me.

His mouth trembles. It's clear that he wants to speak but is not able to. I don't know how to start the conversation either. Hey Dad, I didn't die from falling out from my room! Yay for me! is the only thing roaming in my mind, but it might shake Dad even more.

"I'm fine," I finally say when he doesn't speak out. He stares at me, his face devoid of any other expression but guilt. 

Words eventually form in his lips. "I'm glad," he mumbles, and then shifts his gaze to my plastered hand. His eyes glimmer, but he doesn't let the tears fall.

He speaks some more after that, asking general questions. How's your head? Okay, but it still hurts. And your hand? I don't know, I can't feel it through the plaster. In the end, he even smiles.