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Nerida
AGE: 20 YRS OLD
*
(Love in Icelandic: Ást)
MY EYES FLEW OPEN.
I shot upright, dizzy and tingly, completely lost.
W-Where am I?
Organized chaos swarmed around me as nurses drifted from bedsides as patients were assessed and left in different stages of undress, malaise, and distress.
Nausea splashed on my tongue as I slowly sat up, pushing away the hastily spread blanket over me and holding onto the bed railing as the world swam and tilted.
“Easy, easy, just stay down.” A middle-aged nurse squeaked toward me in bright pink Crocs. Her head tipped down, her eyes scanning paperwork even as she hustled toward me. Dark-brown hair bordering on black gleamed in a tight bun, while her dusky-olive skin was flawless even under the harsh fluorescents.
Coming to my side, she finished reading whatever she had in her hands then looked up.
She froze and did a double take. “N-Nerida?”
I blinked and urged my useless brain to wake up.
Something wasn’t right.
Everything was wrong.
And yet...I couldn’t remember what.
But I could remember her, and the relief to see a familiar face made tears prick my stinging eyes.
“Jedda.” I swallowed hard as urges inside me did their best to figure out what the hell was going on. “Hi.”
“W-What are you doing here?” She scanned whatever notes had been formulated on me. “You fainted at the scene of a car crash?”
And just like that, everything came flooding back.
Every awful, crippling thing.
Aslan!
Oh God.
Where is he?
Panic clutched my nervous system; I swung my legs out of bed, fully intending to go sprinting through the hospital to find him. Only, Jedda placed a calming hand on my uncalmable heart. “Talk to me, Nerida. Tell me what happened.”
My eyes flew to her.
It took so much effort, so much self-control to obey her.
Out of every nurse to tend to me.
Out of every hospital.
This had to be fate, right?
