Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Richelle Mead is the author and owner of the Vampire Academy series. The original characters and plot are the property of the fanfiction author. The fanfiction author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 4 – Awake

Rosa's POV

I woke up instantly.

There was no slow journey to wakefulness to ease the transition; no remnants of a fading dream; no irritating sense of being too hot or too cold; no urgent need to urinate as is often the cause of waking suddenly from a deep sleep – nothing at all.

One moment I was asleep and the next I wasn't.

I blinked furiously trying to clear my vision, which was decidedly blurry despite the sun shining brightly into the room. An irritating beep beep beep sounded from somewhere to my right, and I felt as if an overwhelming lethargy had overtaken my body. I tried moving my fingers and toes, but either movement seemed to take more energy than I could access. Every part of me felt stiff and achy; I had a headache that just wouldn't quit, and an intense sensation of nausea roiling in my gut.

I'll just close my eyes and rest for a moment, I thought.

Was I dead? I didn't think so. I'd never been dead before as far as I could tell, so I had no point of reference, but I'm pretty sure that death – well, the afterlife in Heaven – shouldn't hurt.

Maybe I was in Hell.

My eyes flew open in fear, blinking rapidly to clear the persistent blurriness obscuring my vision. White walls, white ceiling, white bed, red roses by the window. It didn't look like Hell. I tried lifting my arm to rub the crustiness of sleep from around the rims, but no matter how much I commanded my arm to move toward my face, I couldn't seem to make it obey. A hoarse sob of frustration sounded from my arid mouth – it was so dry, like I hadn't had a drink in months.

Everything hurts, my thoughts repeated. Rambling questions addled my weary, pain riddled brain and I felt a strong compulsion to just let it all go – like a really bad dream – and return to sleep. I closed my eyes and felt myself drifting away, back into the darkness …

No! Don't let go – not yet, not yet, I chanted silently.

My eyes flew open again in panic.

Think! Think!

What happened? Why do I hurt? Where am I? Who am I?

Who am I? Why can't I remember my own name?

All of my questions began shuffling on repeat barely allowing me a chance to contemplate the answer to one question before another was asked.

Who am I? Where am I? What happened? Where am I? Who am I? Where am I? Who am I? Who AM I? WHO AM I!?

I wanted to scream, and then I was.

Hands were touching me – holding me down, hurting me! Stop it! STOP IT! I need to get away! I struggled against the hands that held me, not letting me escape. LEAVE ME ALONE! I screamed as tears flowed down my face. I begged and begged, but they didn't listen.

Debilitating fear leeched into my every cell, inching along my bloodstream. My chest heaved as I tried and failed to inhale enough oxygen to calm the fear that was consuming me. It grew and grew into a monster I couldn't see and didn't know how to fight until the sensation coalesced and I felt my heart clench painfully. My body arched off the bed of its own volition and my right arm pulled up reflexively to clutch between my breasts. I vaguely noticed the tubes attached to my arm and the clothes pin on my finger – why is there a clothes pin on my finger?

A hand reached up above my head and did something to the tube. It was a needle. Oh. I'm glad they didn't stick me with the needle – I don't like needles … and then a surreal calmness replaced the fear. I heard the irritatingly loud and frequent beeping noise fade as I seemed to move away, and then there was nothing but warmth and floating …

Oh! This is it. This is what it feels like to die.

I smiled.


When next I floated back to consciousness, the room was dimly lit by low lamplight and an older and wiser version of me was leaning over my body looking into my eyes. She said her name was Bridget and she stroked my forehead gently, whispering all the while that everything would be okay.

I so wanted to believe her.

I sighed and drifted back to oblivion.


I was dreaming.

I was surrounded by a crowd of people who laughed and teased and gently nudged my shoulders when I said something funny. I couldn't hear what they were saying and I couldn't really see their faces, but I knew they were my friends.

A young blond woman cuddled securely in the arms of a young man with short dark hair. He swayed her slowly to and fro within the security of his arms as she chattered away to me and another man – older than the rest of us, but pale like them, tall with artlessly arranged short brown hair. His face was turned to mine, and he urged me towards him with an outstretched arm.

I shook my head, my attention on another man in the room. He stood out above all others. It might have been his height – he towered over every other person standing in the cozy room full of dusty old books. Cobwebs drifting down from the rafters floated onto his hair and he lifted a long arm clad in dark brown leather to brush away the sticky irritation. I was drawn to him, almost tethered to him by some invisible thread, and I found myself ignoring the inviting hand of the other faceless man.

'It's him. It'll always be him," I told the faceless man softly. He smiled sadly and nodded, dropping his arm.

I giggled and strutted over to Mr Tall and Big, stretching up on my toes to comb my fingers through his shoulder length brown hair. It felt like the softest silk and he smelled divine – a woodsy scent mixed with a touch of spice and citrus. He leaned down and his lips ghosted against mine.

'I love you,' he said.

'I love you, too,' I replied. 'Always.'

A sudden loud noise broke my concentration and the dream faded as I woke briefly. I tear slipped down my cheek for what I'd lost.

I'd been so happy.


The next time I woke up, it was daylight again and a tall, dark haired man in a white coat was standing at the foot of my bed writing notes on a clipboard. He was handsome – for an older man – I figured he was somewhere in his late thirties if the crinkles around his blue eyes and the strands of gray at his temples were anything to go by – or it could have been the persistent blurry vision playing tricks on my mind.

"H-hello," I croaked.

His head shot up and he smiled widely as he approached my right side cautiously. He placed the clipboard on the bedside table and sat in the chair by my side. I watched him curiously, wondering who he was.

"Hello, Rosa. My name's Doctor Nicholas Dillard."

I swallowed past the dry lump in my throat. "Hi," I croaked out. I was so thirsty.

"Th-thirsty," I managed to convey, lifting my hand to my throat. I felt as weak as a kitten.

The doctor stood up and reached for a cup of ice chips on the narrow table positioned across the foot of the bed. Using a remote on a cord he pressed a button and the head of the bed I was reclining on slowly began to elevate me into a sitting position. He offered me a tiny ice chip on a spoon and I debated whether I should trust this strange man, but in the end my thirst won out and I opened my mouth to accept the offering.

"I can't give you much," he said apologetically. "You have a feeding tube inserted. It's not going to allow much else to get past, other than a little water."

I frowned and felt a twinge in my face. "Why?"

His brow crinkled. "Why the feeding tube?"

"Yes."

"We had to keep you fed and watered somehow while we waited for you to wake up." He grinned playfully.

Wake up? How long was I asleep for and where was I?

I looked slowly around the room curiously. It was a hospital room.

"I'm sure you have many questions and I have just as many I need to ask you, but we need to take it slowly," the doctor cautioned. "You're not quite with us all the way yet."

I frowned and felt the twinge again around my eye and cheek. My hand reached weakly toward my face to rub the small cramp away. I expected to find smooth skin, but what my fingers found were fine scars running along my cheekbone, around my eye and up into my hairline.

I looked at my fingertips and then at the doctor, an unasked question in my eyes.

He sighed. He obviously hadn't wanted to get into explanations at the moment, but my exploration demanded answers.

"Your face was injured," he told me. "Your cheekbone and eye socket were badly fractured."

I blinked, trying to remember. "How?"

"You don't remember?"

I thought for a moment, and then shook my head slowly.

"You were … in an accident," the doctor said.

Something was off about his explanation as if he'd left something important out.

"What type of accident?" I rasped. My mouth was dry again.

"A car crash."

I tried to remember being in a car that might have been in an accident, but I couldn't remember. I couldn't actually remember ever being in any car, yet I knew what a car was. I even recalled that I knew how to drive, but I couldn't remember driving.

"I don't remember," I said finally, feeling weary. Trying to remember was exhausting. "My head hurts. So tired," I whispered.

The doctor nodded. "Sleep now – we'll talk again later." He walked over to the window to close the blinds, plunging the room into dimness and I closed my eyes.

I was asleep before he left the room.


"C'mon, Rosa, three more knee bends on this leg and then we're done," cajoled a sweet, but firm voice.

My eyes fluttered open and I blinked sleepily at the gorgeous woman who was hell bent on making me exercise when all I wanted to do was sleep. I groaned.

She smiled and looked up. "Welcome back," she said. "I'm Bridget. You met my husband yesterday."

Her husband?

I must have looked confused, because she clarified. "Doctor Nicholas Dillard. Do you remember meeting him?"

I concentrated hard, trying to remember meeting a doctor, but thinking too hard made my head hurt. I looked around the room – a hospital room. I remembered this. Searching my immediate environment, I comprehended the bed I was lying in, the open blinds at a large picture window, and the sun shining brightly, melting the blue-white icicles hanging off tree branches outside the window.

Ice.

I remembered a man give me some ice to suck on because I was thirsty.

"He gave me ice," I said at last.

She smiled delightedly. "Yes. Oh, I'm glad you remember – that's a good sign."

It is? Why?

"Why?"

"Do you remember what Nicholas told you about the …"

"Accident," we said in unison. I noticed she didn't actually answer my question.

I rubbed my aching head. Why wouldn't this headache go away? "My head hurts," I told Bridget.

"I know it does, Honey. I'll call Nicholas and we'll get you something for the pain. Try to stay awake for as long as you can, okay. The longer you remain conscious each time, the quicker you'll recover." She pressed a button on the remote laying on the bed and I caught sight of the pink insulated cup that had held the ice chips.

I was so thirsty.

"How long have I been asleep," I asked her as I tried to reach out to grasp the cup. Nearly. I stretched a little more. Nearly … nearly. Yes! I managed to catch hold of the cup with a bent finger and drag it toward me.

Bridget rushed to assist me. "Here, let me help you. She took hold of the cup and lifted out the spoon holding a coveted ice chip. I opened my mouth eagerly as she offered it to me and I savored the pure taste as it moistened my arid mouth and throat.

"You've been asleep for about four months," she told me solemnly.

I gasped and looked up at her wide-eyed. "No, that's not possible," I denied, shaking my head.

Bridget sat on the chair by my bed where Nicholas – her husband she'd said – had sat yesterday. She took my hand in hers and squeezed gently.

"It's true, Rosa. You were asleep for four months – a coma we call it. You began to wake up about a month ago. You'd have moments of lucidity where you were calm and other times when you'd be fearful or angry. Sometimes you were awake for an hour or so, and other times it was a few minutes or mere seconds and then you'd sleep again."

I lay back against the pillows and shook my head in denial. How could I not remember any of that? Well, duh! You were asleep, Rosa. Of course you wouldn't remember. Rosa … Rosa … Rosa. Why did that name seem so familiar and yet so strange to me at the same time.

I swallowed. "Um, is Rosa my name?"

"You don't remember?" Bridget asked worriedly as the door open and a tall man in a white coat entered the room.

"Good morning," he greeted jovially. He bent down to kiss Bridget on the lips and he took my hand in his. "I'm Nicholas Dillard – we met yesterday."

I nodded. "I remember."

Bridget stood up. "I was just explaining to Rosa how she's been asleep for a long time. She remembers meeting you yesterday, but not anything else since she's been with us," she elaborated. "She asked about her name."

"Ah. What do you remember about your life, Rosa?" the doctor asked gently. He stared at me intently. "Take your time – don't try to force it."

Despite him telling me not to, I thought hard about my past, but nothing significant came to mind. I knew that I knew things like how to drive, walk, read and feed myself. I knew what I looked like. I knew I was in a hospital and I knew that I hurt and I felt weak, but I didn't know anything else.

I sniffed as a tear escaped from each eye. "I-I don't remember. Why can't I remember!?"

"Calm down, Rosa," Bridget encouraged, stroking my forehead. "You're still recovering from some serious head injuries. A period of confusion is not unexpected."

"How am I supposed to calm down!?" I yelled, but it came out sounding like a loud whisper. "I can't remember anything about my life. I don't even know my own name!"

"Your name is Rosa," Nicholas stated.

His voice was so authoritative, I felt compelled to believe him. "Rosa what?" I squeaked.

He paused for a moment before reluctantly saying, "We don't know. When you were brought in, we were only told you said your name was Rosa. That's all anyone knows about you."

My mouth wobbled. "Has no one come looking for me?"

Bridget and Nicholas stared at each other for long moments before Nicholas nodded at her. Bridget took a deep breath and looked me in the eye.

"No one has come forth to claim you. The sheriff says you're not listed on any missing person or teen runaway lists, and your DNA wasn't on file. The car you were found in was stolen, but you weren't the driver. There were no other survivors of the crash and they weren't identifiable."

I gulped. "They?" How many other victims of the crash were there and why was I riding in a stolen vehicle?

"There were two other people in the vehicle – both sitting in the front seat. Both were males, but they were decap … um … killed instantly when they were thrown from the vehicle. Unfortunately, there was a fire after the collision and their bodies were burned beyond all recognition. You were found in the trunk of the vehicle."

Decap – she was going to say decapitated. I felt an overwhelming urge to vomit and although I heaved, nothing happened. Bridget leaned over me and rubbed my midriff.

"Shssh," she murmured. "It will pass. Try to calm your breathing and listen to my voice," she soothed. "Shssh," she kept saying, all the while rubbing my stomach and hugging me to her. "It's going to be alright, I promise."

She kept holding me until I calmed and slipped back into a healing sleep.


After that day, each time I woke up, I was able to stay awake for longer periods.

Sometimes I slept for only a few hours and other times I slept for an entire day before waking again. I remembered the conversations I had with Nicholas and Bridget and sometimes with the nurses that bustled in and out of my room. I remembered the physiotherapist, Tyrone who came twice a day to torture me and I remembered by the end of the fifth month, when they removed the nasal feeding tube so I could eat actual food for the first time in months.

The sensation of the stiff, but flexible tube being dragged out of my stomach, along my gullet and out through my nostril was the absolute creepiest, snakiest sensation I'd ever felt. I shuddered every time I thought about it. As soon as I wasn't receiving nutritional supplements by artificial means, my stomach reminded me that I was hungry, grumbling loudly. Bridget and Nicholas laughed and he picked up the phone by my bed to order some food. He warned me that my stomach wouldn't be able to cope with much at first, but that didn't stop me craving a big juicy steak and fries. What I got was pureed vegetable soup, custard and jello. Yuk.

They removed the catheter in my bladder and got me out of bed, walking slowly to the ensuite bathroom so I could use the toilet and shower with Bridget's help. That was the last time the nurses were able to get me into an adult diaper to catch the poop – yeah – being in a coma isn't all about sleeping. When I woke up there were many indignities I had to face. The authors of Snow White and Sleeping Beauty neglected to mention those parts in their fairy tales. None of it was fun. I refused to wear the diaper again until I was in my dotage, bedridden and senile. I yelled at the stupid nurse who insisted and threw my ice cup at her until she left the room in a huff to get Nicholas. He overruled her and said I could go it alone as long as there were no accidents. I made sure not to wait until I was desperate for the toilet before shuffling into the bathroom.

Nicholas and Bridget told me about my injuries and my expected recovery – I would probably walk with a slight limp due to the right leg that had been broken in three places - not to mention the fractured pelvis. They said I'd have to wear eye glasses because my left eye had been damaged when the eye socket was broken – that explained the blurry vision. An optometrist visited the hospital and he outfitted me with a pair of really trendy eye glasses with one clear glass lens and one prescription lens – and I could see again. Yay!

They told me about the seven operations I'd had in my first month at the hospital and they explained that my amnesia was a common outcome following severe head trauma and a long period of being comatose. Another doctor, a Rolfe Antonov who hailed from New York came to see me and he sent me for a CT scan to find out what was going on with my brain. He told me the spots on my brain were affecting my memory center. When I pushed, he admitted that my memory might not come back and he gave me a permanent prescription for anti-seizure medication because the damage to my brain might cause epileptic fits – I'd apparently already had two while in the coma. I didn't remember them.

They told me I was pregnant.

I was shocked to hear that news and when I found out, I wondered fearfully if I had been assaulted since I'd been found in the trunk of a stolen car with two unidentified men. Nicholas assured me that in his opinion, nothing like that had happened. Although I had been physically assaulted – the cause of most of my injuries – there was no physical evidence that I had been forced. I cried tears of relief that I wouldn't have to tell my baby that her father likely kidnapped me, beat me until I nearly died and then died himself in a fiery crash in a stolen car.

I stroked the form of my baby in the ultrasound photograph – her first baby picture.

Oh, yeah – I was having a girl and she was perfect.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please review.

My research indicates that a person does not just wake instantly from a coma – it is a gradual process that may take weeks and the degree of recovery depends on the injury that caused the coma in the first place. Since no one wants to read through 6 or 7 chapters about Rosa's gradual road to wakefulness, I decided that the weeks would pass in one chapter. Her recovery post coma will be explained in flashback explanations. Dimitri and Rosa will be reunited in 3 or 4 chapters' time, 7 years after she wakes up, so bear with me while we get there and I set up the rest of the story for why and how they are being reunited.