Robbers

thirty - seven

 // thirty - seven //

Everything was enveloped by warmth.

Every sound was encased with velvet, dull and muffled by the thickness of the soft material. Every tiny light was blurry, and with such a creamy beige tone that it could only be considered gentle. Everything was quiet and nothing hurt.

Ella felt the mattress against her back first. It was firm, but it molded to the slope of her spine and legs. She felt the light weight of the blanket next, draped over her legs and across her stomach. It was made of cotton material, and she knew this because it scratched gently at her bare shins. By the time Ella felt the hospital gown's sleeves against her biceps, the world was gradually beginning to fill in the empty space around her. When she tried to open her eyes, the lids felt weighed down by syrup and she fought to see the world around her.

The lights were less gentle when her eyes opened. The fluorescent bulbs glowed white behind glass casings above her head, and Ella couldn't bear to keep her eyes open against the burn. There were voices suddenly, all around her and all at once, but she couldn't understand a single word. Ella tried to speak around the dry patch in the base of her throat, and something sticky tugged at her lower lip from the movement. She managed to whisper, in a cracked and warped voice, "Put the lights out. I can't see."

Someone was holding her hand. Ella could feel the pressure against the skin of her palm, and it was warm. There was hurried movement around her, footsteps shuffling quickly across linoleum flooring. All Ella could see were blurry shadows through the cracked squint of her eyelids. There was a voice beside her right ear, then, the words spoken slowly so she would be able to understand.

"We turned down the lights, Ella. Honey, you can open your eyes."

The lights above her head had been shut off. Ella still squinted and blinked over and over, water leaking out from the corners of her eyes. She wasn't crying, was she? The few tears traced scooping lines down the sides of her head and landed in her hair against the pillow. She furiously blinked away the unwanted water, trying to snap the blurred shapes and colors before her into a conclusive image.

Ella saw her mother's face first. She was leaned over the edge of the hospital bed, strands of her light brown hair tickling Ella's left shoulder through the gown's thin material. It had been her mother who had spoken, and it was her mother who was clutching her right hand fiercely.

Her dad was beside her, then, and he must have been the one to put the lights out. In the dim atmosphere Ella saw his arms around her mom, holding her upright as she slouched over the hospital bed. Ella squinted and saw that both her parents' eyes were red. They had been crying.

And so, the first thing Ella felt was guilt.

"Ella, sweetie," her dad whispered. He reached down with one hand to touch her arm, the other still wrapped tightly around her mom. "Does it hurt? How do you feel?"

"I'm sorry," Ella said, and her voice cracked. "I'm sorry."

Her mom let out a choked sob; it was quiet and she immediately covered her mouth, but Ella had heard. "Don't be sorry," her dad told her, in a voice that was warped and thick with emotion. "You don't have to be sorry for anything, honey."

"We're just – we're so glad you're okay," her mom choked out, her hand still warm against Ella's. "When we got the call, I was so scared. I was so, so scared."