I Am Not a Robot [IT 2019 Reader Insert]

03 | It's Still You

     Your breath trembled as your feet hit each tile of the cold, sterile hospital floor. You weren't surprised when the door to the E.R. wing was completely boarded up, but you managed to reach your hand through an unprotected crevice and pull the door toward you. You shivered at the rush of frigid air that washed over your body as you entered the room, which was filled to the brim with the stench of antiseptic.

     You remembered you had been placed in Room 9 of the I.C.U during your time at the hospital. It was a traumatizing memory you'd repressed all your life, even before leaving Derry, but now that you were in the exact spot it happened, it all came rushing back. You traced your hand along dust-covered walls before you finally felt something that resembled the number nine. You turned, to see a plaque with the exact number you needed emblazoned in rusted metal.

     With a shaking breath, you entered.

     ◌◌◌

    "She's in shock—"

     "Well, help her, damnit!"

     You jolted up, breath coming out in desperate pants. You still felt the hands crawling over you, and you started screaming. "GET OFF OF ME! GET THEM OFF, DEAR GOD, GET THEM—"

     "[Y/N]!" Your mother's voice rang out gently but urgently, and through your tear-ridden vision, you grabbed her arm tightly for some form of feeble comfort. She ran her hands through your grimey hair, gathering your face in her hands. "It's okay, sweetie, it's okay, I'm right here, nothing's hurting you."

      Your breath shook as you remembered what had happened before you ended up here. You'd ridden off with Stan after the fight with Bill, but eventually, everything had gone pitch black. Maybe about five minutes after the initial incident? You remembered being with Richie and Eddie. You'd heard some vague words exchanged in the form of yelling, and then you woke up here. In I.C.U. Classy. You fought with your throat to let your hoarse voice come out, sounding positively ragged. "W-where's S-Stan...and Richie...where are..." You broke into a fit of coughing, realizing you hadn't used your voice since the fight, and even that was for yelling. Must've strained your vocal cords further, then.

     "They..." your mother looked conflicted. "They couldn't make it."  She genuinely sounded sympathetic, but you could tell she was glad they couldn't come. Hell, for all you knew, she kept them from coming. "I'm sorry, [Y/N]."

     "If I may interrupt," the doctor in the room said in a disgustingly professional tone, settling down on a chair next to your hospital bed. "I'm glad to say [Y/N] shouldn't have any lasting damage from the shock they went into.  However, we need to treat their knee as fast as possible. They completely dislocated it."  He continued. "We'll have to set it, and they'll need to spend a few days in the hospital to rest. From then on, we should have scheduled physical therapy."

     Your mother nodded along in comprehension at each point the doctor shared. "I understand. Thank you, sir." Suddenly, your mom jolted in her seat as her watch ticked. She sighed."I'm sorry, [Y/N], I have to go to work." She lay a kiss on your cheek, before leaving the room. You sighed.

     You looked at the name tag on the doctor's chest. "Dr. Murphy," you said maturely, "may I walk around the wing for a bit? I feel like it'd help to get some movement."

     The doctor nodded. "I suppose, but only for five minutes. We don't want to damage your knee any further than it already is. Dr. Browne, would you mind accompanying them?"

     "Not at all." The dark-skinned woman helped you up from the hospital bed and looked toward you. "Would you like to change out of the gown? I understand you'd be more comfortable in your own clothing."