AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Just relax,” he says casually, his voice helping me breathe.
Once he pulls a stool closer to the bed and sits beside me, I fixate on him again. He offers me water from the plastic cup, and I take small sips to soothe my raw throat.
“Can you describe how you’re feeling?” Farrow asks.
“Confused,” I mutter. “My head hurts a lot.”
Farrow nods like that’s understandable. I don’t see how. “You had a traumatic brain injury. You fell and hit your head on the street, on concrete.”
Oh.
I frown. “I don’t remember that,” I say quietly. “I feel fine except for the headache. Can I go home?” I don’t want to be here. I want to see my mom. My dad. Moffy. Xander. Kinney.
My heartbeat accelerates again.Beepbeepbeepbeep.The frantic noise is a violent jackhammer in my brain. I let out a soft groan.
“It’s okay.” Farrow stands up to lower the volume on the machine. My breathing steadies, and I zone in on the mirrored blood-red sparrows on his collarbones. They fly through masts of identical pirate ships. Between them is a half-skull on his sternum.
Beautiful in all its symmetry. I’ve always loved his tattoos.But is that one…new?Next to a red sparrow is a name. Inked clearly. Visibly.Maximoff.
My brother’s name.
I must be dreaming now. Or hallucinating.
“Why is Moffy’s name tattooed on you?” The words are tight in my aching ribs.
Farrow steps away from the machine and glances at his collarbone peeking from the V-neck. Then he looks at me. He frowns for a second before gently taking a seat again. “Do you know your name?” he asks.
“Luna Hale,” I say, confident about this. “Luna with No Middle Name Hale. That’s what Tom likes to call me.” My voice sounds frail.
I gulp more water and taste my strange tongue. How long have I been asleep? Is that why my mouth feels so odd? The questions flash in and out again.
Farrow nods like I’m on the right path with my name. I try to relax, and I rub at my tired eyes.
“Do you know what day it is?” he asks.
The calendar feels fuzzy.How long have I been here?I search the room again, eyeing the TV.Gilmore Girlsis playing. I notice the beeping monitors. The IV bags. I recognize Farrow on the stool, bent forward with a serious face.
Why isn’t his hair bleach-blond?
“What happened?” I ask quietly. I barely hear my own voice. “Why am I in the hospital?”
He’s calm as he answers, “You fell and hit your head on concrete.”
Oh.
I don’t remember that.
He takes a deep breath and adds, “You had a CT scan done, and there’s no hemorrhaging or clots in your brain. But you might experience some post-traumatic amnesia. That means storing memories and information right now might be difficult. It might also be hard to access past memories from before the injury.”
My stomach somersaults. “How long does that last?”
“It varies,” Farrow says.
I frown harder, not liking the vagueness of that answer.
Farrow runs a hand over his mouth and lip piercing, contemplating something. After a second, he tells me, “For mild brain injuries, less than twenty-four hours. For moderate brain injuries, that could be anywhere from one to seven days. Anything more is severe.”
Mild. Moderate. Severe.
