Shards

chapter 1

Chapter 1:

Beep, beep, beep.

The steady sound of my heart rate monitor brought me out of unconsciousness. I was in a hospital bed, of that I was sure. However, I was still a little foggy on what I was in the hospital for. With a groan I pushed myself into a sitting position. My head was throbbing and I felt a strange weight on my right leg. With a small turn of my head, I determined that my left shoulder was bandaged, yet its throbbing was nothing compared to the splitting pain in my temples.

I pushed a piece of sweaty, bleach blonde hair out of my eyes. I was a blonde? It stuck to my skin like I'd been sweating profusely just moments ago. Pieces of it tickled me under the chin, something that I found quite annoying.

My muscles ached and groaned as I tried to move a couple more centimetres forward. The sheet that had been covering me twisted around my legs, making me feel trapped. Angrily, I ripped it off the bed and hurled it across the room. Why would someone have put a blanket on me in this heat?

As I scooted another inch forwards across the sticky mattress, I noticed again that my right leg was weighed down. What I hadn't noticed when the sheet was present, was that my leg was coated in white plaster up to the knee. That was just great, I had a broken leg too. What exactly had happened to me and why the hell couldn't I remember it?

I stopped examining my cast and froze at the sound of voices directly outside my room.

“Well, I don't give a damn what their badges say, this girl was badly injured and probably traumatized. We have to make sure she's okay before we release her to anyone!” The male voice was angry, and as it drew closer I realized that it was me they were talking about.

The door swung open, revealing two people, both looking surprised to see me upright. The nurse hurried to the beeping monitor and began to check my vitals, while the man strode confidently towards me. He leaned on the bedside rail, trying and failing to meet my eyes. Although he did not wear the lab coat, he seemed like a doctor. I didn't like doctors, of that I was sure.

“Hello,” he said, extending his hand, “I'm glad to see you awake. You sustained massive head trauma. We didn't expect to see you up for a couple of days at least.”

As I peered in to read his name tag, I subconsciously reached up to touch my head. It was wrapped in soft bandages. The little pressure my fingers exuded managed to double the pain in my temples, causing me to quickly remove my hand.

“Hello, Doctor Jamison,” I said, accepting his hand shake. He didn't seem like a bad man, and at this point he was my only possible source of information.

“I hope you don't find me rude for asking,” the doctor continued, “but could you please tell me your name?”

I looked at him blankly, my previously desired answers were now even further out of reach.

“I have no idea,” I answered, truthfully, “I was going to ask you.”

The doctor gave a sigh of frustration.

“Clarissa warned you that she might have memory loss, “ the nurse, helpfully, pointed out. “She's lucky she doesn't have brain damage.”

It looked like the woman was about to say something else, but a stare from Doctor Jamison shut her up. Pushing a stray piece of his gelled brown hair back into place, Jamison straightened up and turned to face her.

“Rae, can you go get me...” He seemed to be searching for what to call me. “This patient's chart? I'd like to have a private conversation.”

It looked like the woman had learned not to argue and she quickly exited the room.

“Let me be blunt,” he said, his eyes suddenly intense, “my bed side manner is usually better than this, but you seem like a bright girl. There is a whole lot of confusion surrounding your identity and you are really going to have to remember. In most situations it would be best to allow the patient to take their time in recalling the forgotten events, but something tells me that time is something we don't have.”