Safety is Relative

Chapter Sixteen- Return of the Lovells

My alarm clock beeps harshly and steadily, rousing me from my warm slumber. I groan and fling my arm out sideways in the approximate direction of my bedside table, fumbling for the off switch.

My hand swipes through empty air, and I feel a sharp pain.

‘Ouch!’ I gasp, retracting my hand and sitting up, shocked to consciousness.

My eyes, attacked by the bright white of the room, must be confused. This plainly furnished, completely unfamiliar room that greets me must still be part of my dream. How on earth did I end up in hospital?

The steady beeping has decreased in noise, and as I swing my shocked gaze left, I see a heart monitor machine hooked up to my roommate, whoever they are. I can’t see their face, since they are turned away, but below their face they are covered in bandages.

I shudder, feeling horribly vulnerable suddenly.

What’s been going on?

I rack my brain for a solution, a memory that explains this dramatic change of circumstance, but I can’t think of one. The last thing I remember is falling asleep last night, Thursday night, and dreading yet another day of boredom.

Oh God. What if it’s not even Friday morning? What if I have been in a coma for years, and I’m actually an old woman!

I look downwards, horror struck, to see if I have wrinkly hands, but they look reassuringly normal, and I notice with great relief that I still have the crazy nail varnish I painted on Tuesday still looking as fresh as it was last night, or, I amend in my head, the last time I remember looking at it.

On the downside, I have one of those disgusting tubes taped to my hand, which makes me feel faint just looking at it. I avert my eyes, and continue to rack my brain for a memory of what happened to me.

It suddenly comes back to me, like a flash of a dream: I was leaving the house, on the phone, grinning.

That’s all I can remember. I look for my clothes, but obviously I am in the hospital’s pyjamas, so I get out of bed and try and reach the wardrobe without tugging on that horrible tube too much. I just about manage to get my jacket open and feel in the pockets, but my phone isn’t there.

I bet I was mugged. And they knocked me out with a brick or something, and that’s why I can’t remember anything.

I feel my head, but there’s no sign of any injury.

‘Why can’t I remember?’ I sigh, frustrated.

I wish someone would come, because I’m getting creeped out being alone in this room with that steady beeping and no memories of how I got here.

About five dragging minutes later, Mrs Wickes comes in, and looks really relieved to see me sat up in bed, even if I do have a murderous expression upon my face.

‘Rue! Oh, it’s so good to see you awake! How are you feeling?’

‘I can’t remember how I got here. What happened to me?’

She hesitates. ‘I think it’s best that you rest until your parents get down here. They’ve been dreadfully worried about you, and I think it would be best if they explained it to you.’

‘Okay,’ I say quietly, wondering how bad this is going to be.

The door is flung nearly off its hinges a few minutes later, as Mum runs into the room, and she is crying even before she reaches me. I am enveloped in her warm, familiar embrace, and I can feel her whole body shaking as she clutches me tight. Dad is next to us, his face strained with happiness, and I feel a tight ball of unhappiness writhing in my stomach at the thought of why they are so relieved.