THOMAS'S POV
"Thomas! Dinners ready!"
I can't move. I physically can't move. Maybe it was the four mile run I did yesterday (To get away from the world) or the fact that the sweetest, kindest, funny, talented, most beautiful girl I have ever met just texted me.
I have no idea which.
"THOMAS!?"
I slowly rolled onto my bedroom floor, butt shuffled down the stairs and climbed onto my chair.
I hope my legs work by tomorrow.
"Are you okay Thomas?" My dad asked, stuffing one of mums crazy creations into his too big mouth.
I nodded with a little sound, kind of a tiny squeak that means 'yes I'm still alive'.
"Well that's the most noise we've heard all day!" Mum squealed, how am I related to them? I love them, a lot. But how?
I ate one or two pieces of green-ness from the mountain of food and gave a slight smile, the 'I'm done' smile.
"Fine," she picked up my plate and I collapsed to the floor, butt shuffling back up the stairs.
"Do you think he's alright?"
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"No, we can't be certain that he will recover fully. Ever. I'm sorry but something like this doesn't always have its easy route. So no. We cannot be certain."
The door was slightly open so I could eavesdrop pretty desently from my metal waiting seat outside.
My parents were having a meeting with all three of my doctors, it seems to be going great.
"However, there will always be better opportunities, even if there may be consequences or struggles," the aged man hesitated, "we could help him."
"What kind of help?" My mum asked quietly, almost scared to hear an answer.
"Our teams are just figuring that part out... Um... We have therapy ideas in, er, progress..."
The more confident 'therapist' spoke up, "We will be ready by February 1st."
That voice is familiar, it's the one that tried to ruin me. The one that...
Two months. I have two months to try and speak to her. Speak to Hailey.
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