Chapter Twelve
Hannah
I am strapped to a table. All I can hear is the beep, beep, beep of hospital machines and the roar of blood in my ears. An IV sticks out of my arm. I feel weak. They probably have me on some sort of drugs. Wait, they? Who’s they? Where am I? Questions flood into my head, drowning out my train of thought. I try to sit up, only to find restraints around my arms and legs. I let out a cry of frustration, tears sliding down the side of my face. Being restrained or trapped is one of my biggest fears, ever. A doctor comes in. He has a mask, goggles, gloves, and then the usual doctor attire. White coat, scrubs underneath. Stethoscope.
“How ya feelin’?” he asks casually, writing something on a clipboard he holds.
“Where am I?” I reply. The doctor looks around and shrugs. The mask crinkles as he smiles.
“The hospital, obviously,” he says.
“Where’s Mich?” I say.
“Who?” the doctor says.
“The guy that was with me,” I say. Tears fill my eyes. Is he alive?
“His dorm. You’ll be transferred there as soon as you get better,” the doctor shrugs and holds the stethoscope to my chest. I inhale and exhale deeply. He does a few other tests, then leaves me alone.
“Wait!” I call. He turns. “When will I get better?”
“A few days. Three, at max. Then you can see Mish, or whatever.”
“Mich,” I correct. The doctor chuckles and walks away. The days following are torture. Wondering, day and night if Mich is okay, if I’m okay.
Realistic Fiction