“Yes, Ethan, June 2nd. Do you remember anything from the accident you were involved in?”
I’m officially starting to worry; nothing is making sense. It can’t be June and I have no idea what accident he’s talking about. I look over to my mom, who is looking about as confused as I feel, and then back at my wrist that’s aching like a bitch. I scan the room, although I have no clue what I’m looking for, and then try and shake the cloud that seems to have settled over my mind. I feel like I’m being suffocated in the swath of pale green cotton blankets that have me bound to the bed. “Sorry, I don’t know. I can’t think straight.”
“Not to worry, Ethan, the nurse will be right through with some medication for the pain. Just try and relax, and I’ll be back soon,” he says, placing the chart he was holding on the bottom of the bed.
“I’ll be right back, honey,” Mom calls as she hurries to follow the doctor out of the room.
Just relax—is that a fucking joke? How the hell does he expect me to relax? There isn’t a part of me that’s not hurting right now. I have no idea how or why I’ve woken up in here, and apparently I’ve just lost four months of my life somewhere. Relaxed is the last thing I’m feeling.
I’M GOING CRAZY being cooped up in this drab, depressing room. I shouldn’t complain; it could be worse, I guess. I could be out on the ward with only a flimsy lavender-colored curtain to provide any semblance of privacy. Having my own room must be costing my mom a fortune. She’s currently asleep in the chair by the side of my bed, and she looks so peaceful I don’t want to wake her. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t slept at all since I was brought in here two days ago. The doctors have apparently approved me to be released either tomorrow or the next day, providing that my stats are all good and the stitches from my surgery are healing as they should. They’re mistaken if they think I’m going anywhere without seeing Ethan. I’ve begged and pleaded for them to let me go and visit with him. I’m not family though, so they won't let me into the ICU. The nurse stationed at the end of the hall has escorted me back here twice already. I figured I could sneak out and go find him. I’m not as stealthy as I hoped I’d be, hooked up to this stupid IV. The wheels on the drip stand sound like a freaking freight train against the tiled floor. She told me that there was no use trying to creep into the high dependency unit, as you have to buzz through to gain access. Stupid hospital.
The afternoon sunlight is filtering through into my room; I’ve spent the last hour watching dust molecules float daintily through the streams the blinds make and then disappear as they move into the shade. I’m envious of them; I wish I could just vanish. Slip into the shadows like the dust, hiding in plain sight. That way I could go and find Ethan.
I can’t take lying in here anymore. I cover Mom with one of the mint-colored cellular blankets from the bed and creep out of the room as quietly as I can without waking her, gingerly making my way down the hall towards Nurse Battleax. That’s not her actual name, although I think it should be. She’s not the vision you have in your head of a typical caregiver. In fact, she’s what your mind would conjure up at the phrase, ‘heavy metal groupie’: her hair is streaked with blues and greens—from her roots I’d guess she’s blonde—and piled messily on top of her head, showing off the tattoos that adorn the skin on the back of her neck. All I’ve been able to make out so far are a few swirls and a couple of tiny stars that disappear under her collar; it looks as though someone went to town on her with a pack of bright-colored Sharpies. I’m pretty intrigued as to what the full tattoo looks like. Her ears are pierced with those spacer earrings; I could probably push my pinky through the void in her lobe if I tried, although I guess she wouldn’t take kindly to it. Her whole appearance screams ‘stay away’. She has kind eyes, though; if you focus on those and not the permanent scowl her mouth seems to be set into.
“Miss Thomas, I don’t want to have to escort you back to your room again. Please accept that you are not allowed into the ICU,” she says in a bored tone as I approach the desk.
“Relax, I just want to go find the cafeteria. I’m bored and I need to stretch my legs.” She studies me for a few beats, no doubt trying to discern whether or not it’s a ploy to go on some twisted scavenger hunt for my boyfriend.