2 weeks later
Jens POV
I can feel the sunlight penetrating my eyes through my closed eyelids. Just one more minute and ill get up; it feels as if I had been sleeping forever. At the most I only have 5 hours sleep, it must be why my heads ferociously pounding. Something does not feel right, these are not my sheets, thin and stiff neatly placed over my body. I open my eyes, the light burning causing me to squint, blurry visions of objects around me. The room looks cold, lifeless, clean, too clean. There are machines all around me, the only things that show life as numbers run across the screen, a green line jolting up and down with an overbearing beeping, too loudly for comfort.
As moments pass, my eyes allow me to see more clearly, I try to sit up but my limbs will not comply. A sharp pain all over jolting me back down, I slump against the hard mattress. I can now tell I am in a hospital. But how?
My mind suddenly goes into overdrive as I attempt to think back. The last thing I remember was looking distantly into a pair of beautiful eyes. The most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. My Tilly, telling me she loves me. I remember feeling ecstatic, on top of the world; I never thought I would hear those words. Not in a million years did I think she would say those sweet words, not to me anyway. My brain is sluggish and slow, confusion washing over me. Why am I in so much pain? Why is my body throbbing in an incredibly overbearing pain?
A man enters the room with hurried steps coming towards me. A clipboard in hand with a very concerned look over his face.
"your awake! Its nice to see you Miss Gilmore" he tells me with a sincere smile.
I look at him confused. "What's going on, why am I here?"
"Miss Gilmore, you were hit by a car; you've been here for 3 weeks. You've been in a coma. You are very lucky to be here"
"but…." I don't know what to think, I can't believe my ears. Hit by a car? No, just no.
"water" I manage to croak out through my sudden dry throat. My voice sounding cracked and deep. The man nods politely , pouring me a glass of water.
"take small sips" he wearingly tells me.
I outstretch a shaky hand; tubes attached to my pale and cracked looking skin. Cuts all over my hand, I look at the other one, the same. I take the glass taking a small sip. Relieved as the ice-cold water hits the back of my throat.
Why is it so hard to remember?