How Do We Pick Ourselves up Now?

Days passed as everyone waited for Amelia to wake up. Though the doctors said that she was even lucky to be in a coma, let alone wake up days after an accident such as the one she'd been in. Over and over Oliver watched people come and go from his spot in her room. There was one couple that got him the most.

It was yesterday when he turned his head and saw a man pull a woman with crutches and a pretty busted up face to him. He had held her to him for many minutes and Olivers heart shattered even more. What if he wouldn't get a chance to do that? He's sick of waiting for her to open her eyes.

A small movement cause his attention and his head shot over to stare at Amelia. There was another twitch from her hand, and then another couple from her eyes. Not believing his eyes he blinked, and when a very agonized groan escaped Amelias lips he raced out of the room to get a doctor.

The doctor and a few nurses rushed into her room, telling Oliver to stay out of the room for a few moments.

"What's going on?" A hoarse low voice asked.

Oliver looked around, trying to figure out where the voice came from. He paced around the hallway outside of Amelias room, impatiently waiting for some kind of news from the doctor.

"Well I kind of fucking figured that, but what day is it?" The hoarse voice choked out loudly.

"Miss it's the middle of March," Oliver heard the doctor say.

"Goddamn it!" The hoarse voice hissed.

It was then that the door opened, revealing the doctor. He motioned for Oliver to come into the room, and he nearly stopped in his tracks when he saw Amelia sitting up with her eyes open. His heart began to pound painfully behind his ribcage as he stepped closer to her.

"God Amelia," he said sitting down next to her on his bed.

She stared him in the eyes and smiled, "Why are you here?"