Are they talking about me?
The thought forms slowly, like everything else, but once it’s there it doesn’t leave.
“She’s stable,” the softer voice says again. “Doc said—”
“I heard him.” That low voice again. Closer now. It cuts through everything else.I don’t know why that matters. It does.
My body shifts. Not because I tell it to. Because something is waking up. My fingers twitch. This time I feel it. The sensation is delayed, like my body has to send the message twice before my brain accepts it, but it’s there. My hand feels…heavy. Not numb. Not gone. Just weighed down like something is attached to it.
My arm follows. Slow. Uncoordinated. I try to move it again, more intentionally. It drags. Something pulls at the back of my hand, a tightness that wasn’t there before. My brow furrows. That’s new too. The ability to react to something instead of just noticing it. My breathing changes. Not by much. But enough.
The low voice goes quiet.
The softer one shifts closer. “I think she’s coming around.”
My heart stutters. That’s mine. That’s something I control. Or at least something I feel. It speeds up, not fast enough to panic, but faster than it was. Enough to push something sharp into my chest.
Awake.
I’m waking up. The realization lands all at once. Not gradual. Not soft. And with it comes everything else.
The memory doesn’t return clean. It slams. Cold air. Footsteps. Hands. The sharp sting at my neck. The world dropping out from under me.
My eyes snap open.Light hits too hard. Too bright. It burns for half a second before my vision tries to adjust, shapes coming into focus in pieces instead of all at once.
White. A ceiling. Too unfamiliar.
I inhale too quickly, and the breath catches in my throat, breaking before it finishes. My chest tightens, panic clawing up from where it’s been waiting, quiet and patient.
Where am I?
The question doesn’t come out. It explodes inside my head.
I try to sit up. My body doesn’t cooperate the way I expect it to. My arm jerks instead of lifting smoothly, and the pull at the back of my hand sharpens, stopping me halfway. I look down.
There’s a line. Clear. Running from a bag hanging beside me down into my hand. An IV. The sight of it makes my stomach drop.
Hospital?
No.
This doesn’t feel like a hospital. The room is wrong. Too small. Too…contained.
I push again, trying to sit up, trying to get my body under me, trying to move out of this position that feels too vulnerable, too exposed.
“Hey, don’t—” The softer voice moves quickly. A woman steps into my line of sight, hands lifting but not touching me yet. She’s careful about it, like she’s waiting for permission she knows I won’t give. “Easy,” she says. “You’re okay. Just take a second.”
I shake my head immediately. “No.” My voice comes out rough, barely there, like I haven’t used it in hours. My throat feels dry, tight, like something scraped it on the way back. “I’m not…this isn’t…where am I?” The words trip over each other, faster than my body can keep up with. I try to pull my hand free.
The IV tugs. Pain flares.
I flinch.
“Okay, stop, you’re going to rip it out,” she says, still calm, still steady, but closer now. Not touching. Not yet.
That matters. I don’t know why. It does. “Who are you?” I ask, my voice shaking now. “Where am I? What is this?” My chest is rising too fast. Breathing too fast. The panic is there now. Not quiet anymore. Loud. Sharp. Real.
“You’re safe,” she says.
