Lost at Sea || Shawmila [Completed]

did I leave you hanging every single day?

Before opening his eyes and trying to understand where he was or what had happened, Shawn knew something was wrong. He felt cold, as if it was seeping from his very bones. It was a paralyzing cold, weighing down his limbs, making it difficult to breathe. His lungs hurt, and if he had the strength, he would have ripped his ribcage from his chest to get rid of the painful pressure that had been torturing him for days.

Days turned into weeks before he managed to lift his eyelids. The rest of his body, extremely sore, showed no sign of wanting to move. With only the frenzied movement of his pupils, he looked around, trying to force his vision to focus. The room was white and plain, opening into a corridor that seemed to stretch on endlessly. The light filtering in from the single window was pale and feeble, but it still managed to bother him.

He coughed a couple of times, which caused sharp pains throughout his upper body. A tear escaped from the corner of his eye and trailed slowly down his rough cheek. He noticed a clear liquid-filled bag connected to a needle in his arm. He tried to swallow, and unsurprisingly, even that small movement made him wince.

Footsteps approached in the corridor, and shortly after, a young woman entered through the door. She was wearing a white cotton uniform and a red cardigan, with an apron cinched at her waist. She approached him and swapped the now-empty bag for a full one of the same transparent liquid. It seemed she hadn't noticed his awakening, but when he tried to speak, she told him to stay calm. He drifted back to sleep.

In his troubled sleep, the images that presented themselves in the darkness were unsettling. There were towering waves, slimy tentacles, seaweed dragging him down, suffocating him more and more. He saw Camila's face, her beautiful smile turning into the same pained expression he had seen when she left for New York the first time. He saw blinding flashes that made her diamond ring sparkle, heard a crowd cheer as he watched her exit the church in a white gown, a blond man at her side. Then the waves returned, along with the storm's roar, and the icy embrace of winter water that had swallowed him in the darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, his forehead was sweaty and his breathing was labored. His lungs still ached, but at least he could move his arms and fingers. Before he could try to speak, a nurse and a doctor entered the small hospital room.

Shawn underwent a thorough examination, although every movement brought him discomfort. They asked if he remembered who he was and where he came from, and then they explained what had happened. A month before, he had been found on the shore by a group of fishermen, unconscious and hypothermic. Initially, they thought he was dead, but luckily, they brought him to the hospital anyway. He had been admitted in critical condition, and although the ocean water hadn't drowned him, the hypothermia could have taken his life. In the end, the only thing the low temperatures had taken from him was his right pinky toe.

He had spent the following weeks battling the pneumonia that followed the rescue and, miraculously, he seemed to be on the road to recovery. Of course, he wouldn't be able to leave the hospital for a while longer, but the worst was behind him.

No one knew who he was until he woke up. He was miles away from home, likely carried by the wild currents of that fateful day. The only thing Shawn had managed to say during his restless slumber was a woman's name. "Who's Camila?" the nurse who was helping him settle into the bed asked.

"How do you know that name?"

"It's all you managed to say while you were unconscious. So, who is she?" Peggy, the nurse, insisted, her lively and curious eyes matching her chirpy yet affectionate voice.

"Do you read poetry?" he asked her.

"Sometimes. Only the most famous ones."

"It's the name of a poet."