The Girl With The Scars

~•Chapter Three•~

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Rosemallow’s p.o.v.
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Beep...beep...beep...beep.

‘Where am I?’

Beep.

‘It’s so dark.’

Beep.

‘What’s that noise?’

Beeeep.

“No! Don’t leave me Rose!”

Beep.

‘Who was that? It sounded like my mom.’

Beep.

“Is everything alright ma’am?” A strange voice asked.

Beep.

“H-her heart monitor.”

Beep.

“It’s alright ma’am. Her body is still in shock. I’ll check her vitals to make sure everything is running smoothly.”

Beep.

“Alright.” My mom sniffled.

Beep.

My eyes opened to a bright light, and a very bright room. Not my room. My eyes wandered over to a figure sitting on a chair beside the bed I was in, my mom.

“Mom.” I croaked. Her head shot up from her knees. How she managed to be in a fetal position in that chair is a mystery.

“Rosemallow? How are you feeling?”

“Okay, what happened?” I asked, my voice sounding raspy even in my own ears.

“Shhh, just rest right now baby.”

“Where’s James?”

“I don’t know baby. He wasn’t there when I got home Tuesday.” I glanced at my mom, she looked tired, more than usual. I looked around the bright room and saw it was a hospital room. Why am I in the hospital? Looking at my mom again I knew she saw the question on my face, she saw it and I saw that she did not want to answer it.

“Mom?” I called.

“Yes honey?”

“How long have I been here?” I asked and my mom looked away.

“A week and a day. It’s Wednesday.” I stayed silent, what happened? Soon a man dressed in white came into the room, most likely the doctor.

“How are you feeling Rosemallow? I’m Dr. Hemingway and I have been taking care of you since you got here.” Called it.

“Why didn’t you go home?” I asked.

“What?” The doctor and my mom say.

“If you’ve been taking care of me since I got here why did you not go home? Mom said I’ve been here for about a week so, why did you stay a whole week at the hospital when you could go home?”

“Haha, I went home, but when I was working you were my patient.”

“Why am I here?” I asked, I wanted to know why I was here and missed a week of school.

“We were hoping you could answer that Miss Zakarira.” Dr. Hemingway replied.

“Mom?” I looked at my mother and saw her looking down at her lap. Looking around the hospital and the monitors, I hopped to find something to help me realize why in the world I was in a hospital. Then my eyes landed on a wrists, both covered in bandages. My skin a deathly pale color. In a second the memories from Tuesday night came to me.