Status: A WIP that will probably remain one forever because I am lazy. also it's really bad I am ashamed of my terrible writing skills from a couple years ago :(

It Was Only A Kiss

Clean, Clear Blood-stains

Sarah's POV

I woke with a blinding light piercing my eyes. I squinted slightly and immediately afterwards, intense pain shot through my head. I flinched. My throat was painfully dry and my mouth tasted of medicine. My neck was literally impossible to move due to the horrific pain every-time I tried to move it; while the rest of my body seemed disconnected from me, as if I was controlling it from a distance.
I couldn't even do something as simple as raising my arm or wiggling my toes, and every-time I breathed in, a sharp, shattering pain seared through my lungs, making me cringe every two seconds or so.

The room I was in was sparsely decorated with a single vase of white blossoms balanced delicately on the windowsill. It was a very simple hospital room, with bland beige walls staring back at me from every side (think soap-operas where the Quarterback of the football team breaks an arm). On one side of the room was a tiny TV (ew, it's black and white...) and a sink with a poster hanging above it proclaiming loudly to the world of the people in white gowns 'Have you washed your hands yet?' in bright yellow letters; every time I happened to look at it, obviously highlighting the obsessive levels of hygiene that numerous doctors try to keep. Try.
There were only four beds in the room, with only three beds occupied. The occupant of the bed opposite me had their curtains drawn tightly, while the patient on my right seemed to be in a very bad physical condition. His head was bandaged to the point where I could barely decipher his features. But all in all, it looked like this is where the hospital puts some of its most serious cases.
Yes, I've always had this feeling about doctors that once they start learning the scientific processes of living, dying and medication, they start to treat their patients like science experiments instead of people. I can imagine it playing out...

- Oops, I accidentally gave a double dosage of morphine in their blood stream and caused them to die in their sleep...-
Naughty, naughty. Its the 3rd this year you've done that to, I'm afraid that if this continues I'll have to sack you... The health authorities are very strict you know
- I promise its the last time! And it's only the 3rd! You let our Keith off with only a warning after he un-nessaccerilly amputated 8 people's limbs!-
Well... Lives are generally more highly valued then limbs... But if you
promise this is the last time...

Don't blame me for being this cynical when everyone knows that the US has a screwed up medical system.

"Well... How are we here?" I jumped at the resonant voice, startled - or at least as much as I could with the multiple layers of cloth and bandages - then hissed at the jerky sensation that someone had just tried to rip open my thigh while simultaneously pulling the edges of my skin tightly.

"Yes, you're pretty badly injured as you can probably feel right now. Do you want the details now, or wait later until you feel more mentally prepared?"

"... I'm guessing that you've got bad news..." I was surprised that I could even whisper at all. My throat was raw to the point where I wondered if someone had stuffed sand-paper down my throat and then rubbed it up and down for the time I was out. "... I think I can handle it now..."

The ebony haired doctor nodded her head, probably un-surprised from what she'd heard of me. My 'friends' and family had this thing about needing to convince other people of my inclinations and personality so that they could convince themselves as well. My real friends such as Onyx however (alright, I admit she was my only real friend other than Connor in university), were far from being blabbermouths about my life unless they thought it was absolutely necessary. Wait. CONNOR! Where was he!?

She must have seen my alarmed expression - I tend to understate things like this when I'm emotional - and swiftly strode to my side to make sure my IV was securely hooked up before she sat herself down on the white leather chair a foot away from the head of my bed.

"Which do you want first? The news regarding yourself or your boyfriend?"

I raised an eyebrow at the ridiculous question and sent a prayer of thanks to whatever higher power had insured that my head remained relatively un-scathed. Or at least the front of my head.
She obviously noticed the face I was making and chuckled quietly, gently shaking her head.

"Alright, I get the idea. We have a lot of young love coming in here, so I understand you." She smirked slightly, then quickly sobered up when she continued. "Alright then, which do you want first: the good or bad news?"
Damn. Tough decision. I could be my usual self and stomach the bad news before being told the good factors in what happened, but now I wasn't so sure... It was Connor after all.

"I think the good news would be great to start with." I was hesitant to start feeling guilty about causing all the bad news... Moments from that night flashed before my eyes. The throbbing beat. The roaming hands and kisses. The sinfully delicious smile. Then the confusion of Connor when I made him leave early with me. The hurt. The pain. The anguish. The pure brokenness in his eyes. The utter destruction of the trust we shared. The desolation of losing your only heart's desire.
I was jolted out of the dark depths of my mind by the one sentence to come out of her lips: "He's alive."

Almost immediately I jerked out of bed and would have landed on the hard floor if it weren't for my doctor's extremely fast reactions. I whooped in joy, completely ignoring the feeling of my throat being ripped out and simultaneously scratched and ripped by blunt sticks.

She laughed lightly at my antics, then firmly settled me back in my crisp, hospital bed. After about 5 minutes when I had finally stopped trying to dance a jig whilst sitting, her silly grin slowly faded off her dark skinned face to a grim, morbid mask of pity.
What is it with her mood-swings? Is she PMS-ing or something... Couldn't help but wonder since her smiles flashed on and off like a broken neon-light sign.

"Now for the bad news." Oh. That's why she had a huge mood change. Good luck Sarah... 'Hope For The Best, But Prepare For The Worst' time.

She leaned forward slightly. "Like you, your boyfriend went into a state of comatose shortly after you were extracted for the crash site. Today is now," she glanced up at the quaint clock on the far wall. "10:37pm which means you've been out for around 4 days."

She turned back to me and bit her lip slightly, probably wondering how to broach the topic.
"However, he has not yet woken up. And also unlike you, he suffered severe damage to his skull and parts of his brain. So while you'll need a month or so at most to fully recover, he will most probably go the rest of his life with-" She took a deep breath. Wow. Does this mean a doctor actually cares for once? I think that was a first... But back to Connor.

"There is a 80% chance that he will have the mentality of a 6 year old for the rest of his life. He will not be able to take care of himself anymore than a young child would. We have already contacted his adoptive family, but they say that due to financial difficulties, they cannot help him." Her mouth was locked in a grim line of sympathy.

I had caused this. I had lost him his intelligence. The sly spark of wit in his eye when he caught a caustic comment I had made towards a lecturer or groupie of his. His family. His Independence. His freedom. Almost everything...

She hurried on to the good news, "But he is estimated to get up in around a day or 2 and there is a small possibility that he could re-gain his complete mental ability, we finished some operations in that regard; and we will also schedule therapy sessions for him. But whether it works or not won't be visible for at least a year, and since it seems he has no one to turn to, I would geniunely appreciate it if you took him in."
I. Not we, as in the hospital, so that we can clear up a bed for the next person. But I. Maybe she does care after all...

I choked back a sob threatening to escape my throat. Connor wouldn't have wanted me to be sad. But to hold my head high and do what's right. Connor. Why do I mourn him so when he's not even dead?

"Of course I'll fucking take care of my boy-friend."
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note to self: never EVER accidentally click a link when nearly done:P
almost 5 comments now! err at 4... Thanks for everyone who HAS commented:D