I can feel the large calloused fingers that swipe repetitively across the back of my own, petite hand. The juxtaposition between the delicate caress that comforts me, against the metallic, thick bar embedding it's self into my wrist, is very distinctive, and almost uncanny.
My limp build unwillingly lays upon a shoddy mattress. My arms lay beside my fatigue body as I aimlessly try to recollect any memories of what got me here.
I can hear my parents talking to the doctors. I can hear the deep, repetitive beeping noise, located to the left of my head. I can hear the delicate whispers being spoken into my ear, as pleas for me to wake up fill the room. But I can't seem to move. I can't seem to open my eyes. I can't seem to buckle up the ability to speak.
For what seems like the past few hours, I've been able to take in whats going on around me. Im pretty sure that I'm in a hospital bed, and I have been for a couple days now. For what? I'm not totally sure yet. However, I have been trying to show signs that I'm coherent. I've been trying to wake up.
I know that I'm in no way a stable state right now, and I'm extremely confused. But I do, however, know that I'm hand cuffed to this bed. I'm trying to think back to what got me here, and I genuinely can't commemorate it. I always hoped that the first time I get arrest I would be drunk, and with a group of college friends. Not jacked on medication, awakening from a coma, handcuffed to a hospital bed.
Holy fuck I'm a fugitive.
I was pulled out of my thoughts by what sounds like my mother's voice "how long now?", she murmured.
I heard a profound exhale leave my fathers mouth. He responded by affirming "Darling, you have to understand that Arla has been through a lot of trauma in this accident, and she will have to approach a lot more unlucky news when she awakes. But she's strong, she's our little fighter. It's already approaching 18 days since the accident, and I miss her more and more everyday. They'll pay for this. But, you know, better than anyone else, that she will wake up when she's ready. We just have to wait". With that, my mom let out a long, heavy sigh.
I feel so much pain for them right now. I really wish I could return the endless hugs that my lethargic, comatose body has been receiving. But I can't. I could hear the pain in their voices when they spoke to one another. I've always been a sucker for making my parents proud, I never wanted to make them worry, or become distressed over me. My parents are too naive and blind to the world of danger and harm, they don't deserve this.
OH MY GOD
What's are they going to think about me having a criminal record? Fuck. They're going to kill me. I'm pretty sure I heard my dad say that I've been comatose for 18 days, so surely that has given them enough time to calm down, and keep a level head when the topic creeps up in conversation.
Wait 18 days? I must've done something real bad if I've been cuffed to this bed for 18 days.
If I've been like this for more than 2 weeks, why am I only now being able to hear them? I've only been able to hear them for maybe 3 hours. Why is that?
As you can imagine, many things suck about being in a coma. The obvious one being the lack of physical ability. If I could move right now, the first thing I would do is smash that fucking device that's constantly beeps in my ear. Holy shit hospital equipment is annoying. However, that is out of the picture right now.
To be honest, I'm scared. I really hate the feeling of not being in control. I'm not a control freak, I just like to be aware at all times. So I've always hated when secrets are suppressed from me. I hate that I can't even move my arm right now.
