Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
My head was pounding. Everything hurt. Why did everything hurt? Why was my head killing me?
Beep.
And what the bloody hell was making that Godawful noise?! I tried to move but found my limbs to be too heavy. I felt sluggish and weighed down. Even my eyelids felt heavy. I tried to speak but nothing came out except a gargled groan. Suddenly the beeping became more rapid and I could hear the muffled voices. They sounded so far away, almost like I was underwater. I struggled against the feeling, trying to reach the surface of consciousness. I wanted out, out of this dark and lonesome prison that my mind had trapped me in. I don't know how long I struggled before the voices began to grow stronger and the heavy feeling began to lift.
"Kyla…" Kyla, my name. that was me. But who was calling it?
"Kyla…" There it was again, but that voice. It sounded… lighter? Not as deep as the last one.
"Kyla, open your eyes. Please, open them." The voice sounded desperate. I tried to open my eyes, I struggled so hard to try and open my eyes. I was barely able to lift them, letting just a small fraction of light in, blinding me. I let them fall again with a heavy sigh.
"That's good. That's very good. She's responsive. We just need to give her time. Her body has taken on a lot of stress and her mind is still coping with it. Her chances of recovering have greatly improved."
Recovering? Why was I recovering? Better yet, what was I recovering from? As I laid there in the dark I could hear the voices drifting away.
No. Come back… don't leave me.
The door shut and everything around me went quiet again. Then I felt a warm hand take hold of mine.
"Kyla," That voice! It was the desperate one from before. "I'm still here darling. I'm still here, and I'm going to be here when you wake up. I know, I know, that you'll wake up. I have faith in you. You're strong. You don't give up." His voice was soft and sad. Who was he? Who was he to me? "I can't wait to see your beautiful eyes again." I felt him raise my hand and place a tender kiss on it.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would open my eyes. And with that, I let myself slip back into unconsciousness.
The next morning I woke up again to the sound of machines beeping and whirring. I took a deep breath. Today was it. Today I would open my eyes. First, I focused on my surroundings. The sounds, smells, and what I could feel. There was a tube down my throat, that was the first major thing I noticed. It felt uncomfortable and rough. The air smelled like antiseptic and I could hear the sound of shoes squeaking on the floor and people milling about outside.
Over the course of the day I tried over dozens of times to open my eyes but was just never quite able to get them open. It frustrated me that I couldn't open them when I was conscious. Too tired of trying and failing to open them, I gave up, and I focused on trying to remember things about my life.
For starters, I was Welsh. I had a mum, a dad. Did I have any siblings? No, no I didn't have siblings. Did I have a job? Was I still in University? No, no I was too old to still be in uni. My job… makeup? Yes! Makeup and prosthetics, that's what I did. But for what film or television program? Did I live alone? Did I have a roommate? A pet? A boyfriend? These things I did not remember. I sighed, feeling all of my energy drain from me, and decided to sleep.
The days passed in this same fashion for several days. Bits and pieces of my memory coming back to me. I remembered that I did have a roommate and a boyfriend, but I couldn't remember their names or faces. I remembered that I had recently lost my job and that I had found a new one. I remembered that I had tattoos, my grandmother and I had never seen eye to eye. I loved Coldplay, the color blue, I had red trainers, and I loved to write.
There was a man, the same man from before, and a woman who came to see me every day. The woman came every day at the same time, late in the evening. The man, well, he hardly ever left my side at all. He sat with me, held my hand, talked to me, and even read to me. He read me Poe, Shakespeare, Hemingway, and W.H. Auden. And on occasion, in the late hours of the night, he would sing to me. He had such a wonderful voice.
He brushed my hair behind my ear, kissing my forehead softly.
"I'll have to leave you alone tonight, darling. Have to go to work, I promised Russell that I would be there at least twice a week." He sighed, "I'll return in the morning though… I love you." With one final kiss to my head, he left. Leaving me in silence again.
I desperately wanted to see the world around me, to see the people around me, but more than anything I wanted to see this man that read to me at all hours of the day. This man who sang to me late at night. I wanted my life back. As I prepared for sleep that night, I made myself a promise. One that I was determined to keep.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I would open my eyes.