It’s been a while since I have woken up in a hospital. The very first time I thought that I might have been dead. I don’t allow myself to think positive things like that anymore. I know what happens next. Needles, drips, bad hospital food, everyone faffing over me, and eventually they will let me go and put me in the care of people who love my and care for me and will never allow me a single minute of solitude and privacy for the next few months. Death would without a doubt be less painful than struggling through getting better like everybody wants me to get.
The face that smiles down at me is friendly. They always are. As if not smiling would cause me to break and fall apart, break more than what I am already broken.
“Hey sweetie, are you okay?” the brunette smiles. I can see she is trying her best to be nice and motherly at the same time, although I am pretty sure she is younger than me.