"𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚢?
𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚘𝚠?
𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢?
𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚘𝚠?
***
𝚒'𝚖 𝚏𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚍"

---

Waking up from a nightmare to blinding lights stabbing your eyes is not a good feeling.

Images of the awful dream - of her mascara-stained cheeks and hateful green eyes - flash through my mind, and a wave of nausea rolls through my empty stomach. Was it possible to get PTSD from a dream? The nightmare was - no, trust me, you don't want to know.

What the hell even happened? I'm lying on a ... hospital bed?

The last thing I remember was entering the night club... and then nothing else. Maybe I got too drunk, and this is a killer hangover. Oh well, at least I can tick off that experience from my bucket list, even though I don't seem to have any memory of it. Unless... did Astrid really let me get hit by a truck? Ugh, I am never going out with that girl again.

All around me there is sound and commotion, but the frantic bodies in blue scrubs (I observe through slitted eyes) don't seem to notice that they are seconds away from being sued for attempting to rob a young woman of her eyesight.

I can't seem to keep my eyes open for any longer, before immediately, a familiar painful thud returns to my head. I groan, or attempt to thanks to my shrivelled Sahara desert of a voice box.

Then, to my utter relief, the chaos ceases and I feel multiple pairs of eyes staring holes into my face. Gee, a girl just woke up from a tragedy... don't expect her to look red carpet ready. I wonder if I still have my legs...

"Teagan?" a voice I don't recognise says, "Honey, can you open your eyes?"

And go blind? No thanks...

But less scornfully, I manage to croak out, "the light", hoping they get the message.

After one long painful second, the male voice responds. "Oh yes, sorry Teagan," he apologises, sounding uncertain. Why does he sound uncertain? Oh my god. A horrific prospect appears in my conscious mind as I try to reign in my panic. Have I lost my arms as well?

Fortunately, I find relief in the fact that there are no longer strong laser beams trying to burn through my eyelids to get to my eyes. This is the romantic moment where my lashes are supposed to flutter gently up, like the graceful beat of a butterfly's wings, but what is it that you've learnt about my luck as of lately? Yes, exactly. I'm positive someone has glued my upper lashes to my lower lashes, and I fight the urge to rip my eyes open, along with my lashes. Which sadistic monster would play such a hideous prank on a pitiful, limbless amputee? Isn't it bad enough that I'd crawl, or more likely shuffle through streets for the rest of my short life, that someone would attempt to steal my eyesight as well?

"I can't open my eyes," I tell them, cringing at the sound of my gritty voice.

"Rachel, please get a damp cotton ball for me," the stranger, who I assume to be my doctor, asks. "Thank you. Teagan, I'm going to help you open your eyes. Don't cry, honey, it's only a discharge of mucus from your eyes that have stuck them together."

Now, I want to cry. Of mortification. But I only nod.

Warm fingers dab at my skin with a cold, wet ball. When he's done, I try again and this time, I don't find myself cursing a non-existent culprit, who I'd previously accused of attempting to blind me. Instead, I am greeted by a crinkled face, who I assume the voice belongs to.

But I don't waste too much time with unimportant things, and my eyes shoot to my sides. Arms?Check. Then at the end of my bed, two bumpy lines protrude through the thin sheet. I have to guess those are my legs. Relieved, I let my head fall back, and silently apologise to my sister through our imaginary telepathic channel. It turns out you didn't let me nearly die last night. Astrid.

"Teagan, I have to say," the doctor begins nervously, "we are quite surprised that you regained consciousness. We didn't expect you to..."

"So I did get hit by a truck?" By now, I'm over the unattractive sound that escapes my lips. I just want to point out now that I will not pay compensation to anyone who claims I sandpapered their ear drums. The court will believe an innocent young girl, I'm sure, over delusional, overworked medical staff.

"What?" he asks in shock, "Are you feeling quite alright Teagan? Does your head hurt?"

Yes. But I wasn't going to admit that to a man who already thought I was barking mad. "I just want to know why I'm here, doctor," I explain, nervously.

"Of course you do. Well... you've been in a coma for a month, and your heart failed on three occasions, but other than that, you're perfectly healthy!"

The encouraging cheer in his voice does nothing to fix my detached jaw, which hangs wide open.

"W-what?"

"Um, Doctor Loco, don't you think this conversation would be more appropriate with her father present?" a sober, sensible voice intervenes. It belongs to a tall, blonde nurse, who shoots me a sympathetic smile.

Doctor Loco - stop laughing, this is not a good time - looks baffled for a second, before he enthusiastically replies, "Of course, Rachel! That would be a wonderful idea!" Then he looks at his watch and hurries fix the stethoscope around his neck. "Would you mind finishing things up here? I've got a da- I mean, er, patient to see. Cheerio!"

As he bounces out of the room, Rachel, the only remaining nurse, moves forward to adjust the pillows around my head.

"Sorry about him, Teagan. Usually, the old man works with his half-mad senior patients in another ward. But lately, Kings has been so short on staff, and he's the only doctor we had at the time who specialised in heart conditions," she explains apologetically.

"Kings?"

"Yes, er, you had to be transferred to New York because of a few heart issues." Rachel sounds cautious, like she's talking to an emotionally fragile and frightened patient, who could begin a mental tantrum at any moment. "I understand you're from Chicago? I believe you were flown in, at your father's ..um.. request."

Oh. "Could you by any chance get my sister? She's actually my twin, so I think you'll be able to recognise her." Oddly enough, I trust this stranger. It's comforting how she doesn't "honey" or "sweetie" me, like she's a concerned aunt. Rather, she treats me like an adult, which is quite fitting since last I remember, I was 18.

Her face falls. "Oh, I've sent Nurse Katie to bring in your Dad, Teagan. I don't think your sister will be here though. In fact, it's just turned 2 and today's Wednesday so she would most likely be at school, back in Chicago."

"No," I tell her confidently, "Astrid wouldn't go home let alone school if I was in hospital."

"Well, you have been in hospital for a month, Teagan."

Suddenly, I don't like Rachel anymore. Why does she keep contradicting me? And reminding me of stupid facts I already know?

"I think you should ask your dad if you have any personal questions-"

I'm seconds away from telling her what I think, but then the door crashes open and in walks a haggard looking Marshall Wilde.

I fight to hide my disappointment. "Dad!"

Is he crying? But... he never cries... I don't like this, and a strange feeling within me urges me to recoil from his outstretched arms.

Nonetheless, I squash the urge and return the embrace with hands that have only just regained feeling. I feel guilty enough as it is that I hoped it was Astrid who came to see me first. "I don't understand-"

"Hush, sweetie. I thought I lost you. They wanted me to sign the-"

"Where's Astrid?" I can no longer hide my impatience, and struggle to repress the frustrated tears welling in my eyes. I wanted- no, needed to see my twin.

Something akin to fear flashes in Dad's eyes and I wait for him to answer.

"Teagan, now's not a good time. You should rest, sweetie..."

"Dad stop! I want to see her! Now!" I yell, almost hysterical. It's a simple question: why is no one answering it? Vivid flashbacks of the nightmare reentered my mind. The club, the loud music, the rumours, the screaming, the pain... What if that wasn't ... just a dream?

His eyes become hard. "Teagan, stop arguing and rest. Astrid is not here. She's at home."

No, that can't be true... unless she actually did hate me... and whatever happened in the club wasn't a dream... I shudder at the thought. "Stop lying to me," I say as calmly as I can muster.

"I'm not-"

"YES YOU ARE!" I scream. Why isn't Astrid here? Is she alright?

"Fine!" he shouts back, shaking at the effort of controlling his emotions, "She came to see you once, and now I've sent her back home. She's grounded. I told her to take care that night and when I got to the hospital, she was still drunk! It's better if I separate you for now."

"Dad, I can't remember what happened," I tell him, "what happened?"

He sighs, like he wishes he knew himself. "Darling, you fainted. I think you were too overwhelmed... I should've known something like this would happen..."

Waves of guilt and sorry slam into my eyes, and I close the dams before the tears can fall. "It's not your fault, and it's not Astrid's either."

"Whatever you say, sweetie. Now rest, I'm going to go get a coffee." He kisses my forehead, and strokes my hair for a moment. "Heaven knows I need it," he mutters as he leaves. Then, he stops and backtracks. "Here," he says flashing me a sly grin and handing me a black object, "so you don't die of boredom."

It is my phone. What a difference that would make to this lockdown.

---

𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴𝓼 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 ℍ𝕖𝕣 𝔾𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕤 ℂ𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕖 ❤︎
𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚟𝚘𝚝𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 ☻︎

xoxo
Aviana