Status: In Progress
The Short Life of Calico Flynn
Forgive Me
"Ash, its time to wake up."
I stirred in my own mind, the words stretching through the darkness and reaching a hidden part of me. Everything ached and I resisted the approaching light. Leave me alone, I thought. Just let me rest. My memories were blurred and I was a mess of muddled pain and confusion. I drifted back to the shadows, my subconscious straining it's fingers to grab hold of me. The voice came back more persistent.
"Ash you need to wake up. Come on, open your eyes...that's it." I cringed at the bright light, my entire body throbbing in tune with my heartbeat. I blinked rapidly, struggling to focus. Faces became steadily clearer, the fog lifting ever so slowly.
First I recognized Mom; she was standing by the side of the bed, looking down at me with tear stained eyes. A man in a white lab coat came next with a look of professional calmness settled into his features. He was older, but still pleasantly handsome. His short cropped hair was silver white and his eyes were a cool mint blue. His name tag read Dr. Henry Snow, PHD. The name was oddly fitting.
"Hello, Ash. I'm Dr. Snow. I treated you in the ER." I stared blankly at him, my drug riddled brain slowly piecing his words together. Go figure. If my tongue didn't feel like it was made of sandpaper I would have made an offbeat, rude comment. Snow examined the chart in his hands before speaking again.
"You suffered a high percentage of blood loss, so you were put into a drug induced coma. It's natural if you're feeling sick or dizzy."
His tone was cool and soothing and I found myself latching onto his words, even if I was still trying to comprehend what he was saying. His lips were moving but there was a delay and the words took longer to register. It was frustrating.
"You've just woken up so I'm going to save the hard questions for later. For now just rest and I'll come back and see you tomorrow." He smiled gently at me. The expression made my muscles freeze and I didn't relax until he exited the room. I finally forced myself to look at Mom. She only lasted a few seconds before crying again.
My heart pressed against my rib cage, my head pounding. What the fuck had I done? The guilt was there of course; brutally gnawing at me, making me sicker. But at the same here her tears were nothing to me. If I had died then at least I wouldn't have to watch her cry. Hesitantly I reached out and touched her hand, in an attempt to be comforting.
My cuts didn't hurt; I was too drugged up for that. Instead they throbbed with my pathetic heartbeat, reminding me I was still alive. I knew most of them were deep; I heard Dr. Snow mention something to Mom about stitches and staples. I wanted to say something to her, anything. But my throat was dry and nothing that came to mind sounded right. So I laid there among the pale hospital sheets, silent. The air was filled with the muffled sounds of Mom's crying and the LCD machine in the background. I closed my eyes, trying to drown it all out.
I didn't want this. Any of it.
But for some ungodly reason, I felt no regret.
I stirred in my own mind, the words stretching through the darkness and reaching a hidden part of me. Everything ached and I resisted the approaching light. Leave me alone, I thought. Just let me rest. My memories were blurred and I was a mess of muddled pain and confusion. I drifted back to the shadows, my subconscious straining it's fingers to grab hold of me. The voice came back more persistent.
"Ash you need to wake up. Come on, open your eyes...that's it." I cringed at the bright light, my entire body throbbing in tune with my heartbeat. I blinked rapidly, struggling to focus. Faces became steadily clearer, the fog lifting ever so slowly.
First I recognized Mom; she was standing by the side of the bed, looking down at me with tear stained eyes. A man in a white lab coat came next with a look of professional calmness settled into his features. He was older, but still pleasantly handsome. His short cropped hair was silver white and his eyes were a cool mint blue. His name tag read Dr. Henry Snow, PHD. The name was oddly fitting.
"Hello, Ash. I'm Dr. Snow. I treated you in the ER." I stared blankly at him, my drug riddled brain slowly piecing his words together. Go figure. If my tongue didn't feel like it was made of sandpaper I would have made an offbeat, rude comment. Snow examined the chart in his hands before speaking again.
"You suffered a high percentage of blood loss, so you were put into a drug induced coma. It's natural if you're feeling sick or dizzy."
His tone was cool and soothing and I found myself latching onto his words, even if I was still trying to comprehend what he was saying. His lips were moving but there was a delay and the words took longer to register. It was frustrating.
"You've just woken up so I'm going to save the hard questions for later. For now just rest and I'll come back and see you tomorrow." He smiled gently at me. The expression made my muscles freeze and I didn't relax until he exited the room. I finally forced myself to look at Mom. She only lasted a few seconds before crying again.
My heart pressed against my rib cage, my head pounding. What the fuck had I done? The guilt was there of course; brutally gnawing at me, making me sicker. But at the same here her tears were nothing to me. If I had died then at least I wouldn't have to watch her cry. Hesitantly I reached out and touched her hand, in an attempt to be comforting.
My cuts didn't hurt; I was too drugged up for that. Instead they throbbed with my pathetic heartbeat, reminding me I was still alive. I knew most of them were deep; I heard Dr. Snow mention something to Mom about stitches and staples. I wanted to say something to her, anything. But my throat was dry and nothing that came to mind sounded right. So I laid there among the pale hospital sheets, silent. The air was filled with the muffled sounds of Mom's crying and the LCD machine in the background. I closed my eyes, trying to drown it all out.
I didn't want this. Any of it.
But for some ungodly reason, I felt no regret.