Escape

34

Recovery is a battle

The past week went by rather quickly as I spent all of it in the hospital. Day by day I was starting to feel better, feel more strength to do simple tasks. My sleeping schedule slowly went back to normal after I spent several days having naps all the time, but as I wasn't as weak and tired anymore, I could go through a whole day without extra sleeping.

Eventually I was allowed to have short walks in the hallway, so I could leave my room, and the bed that became a prison to me with all the wires that tied me up. My first attempts were a bit demotivating when I was clumsier than a newborn giraffe. All the life left my legs in just a few days and I needed support to have these small walks.

The first time I left my room was with Dylan, and I'm grateful for it, because I almost had a minor breakdown from how useless my body felt. As always he managed to comfort me that it'll get better soon and in no time I'll be my old self. It was hard to believe him, but it in fact was slightly easier the next day when I got up.

My wound still hurt like a bitch, made my walks harder but also simple things like laughing, coughing or anything where I use my muscles there, caused me pain. It was quite annoying, and although I knew it'll go away eventually, sometimes I was completely done and fed up.

Thomas and Dylan who had more experiences with these type of things, always told me to not push myself too hard, and give my body time to recover. I tried my best, but frankly, I'm not a patient person.

When I was allowed to use the bathroom, I stubbornly declined everyone's helps, but when my legs almost gave out at like the third step, Dylan was already next to me to hold me. I was so frustrated, because I felt like I was fine emotionally, but I was still limping around like an injured animal.

After a lot of convincing, I succeeded to make Dylan book hotel room, so he could finally have a proper sleep. Since then, I was spending my nights alone, but I was fine with that. I needed some alone time when I could think about what happened.

I couldn't really figure out where did I stand emotionally. My brain can be really confusing with even myself. I felt surprisingly good and I wasn't sure if my brain was just acting up like I'm fine, that nothing bad happened, or it's just the calm before the storm, and eventually I'll process everything and it'll crash me then.

I was thinking about it a lot, tried to write about it so I could find out what's on my mind. I often caught myself swallowing down a hiss or whimper when I moved a wrong muscle or something, and I tried to hide that it effected me. I wasn't sure why I did it, it's been always in my nature, I guess.

Past experiences can make you closed off with your emotions too. I always hated how people reacted when they heard about my parents. Or when I chose to open up about something and people didn't understand me or listened to me. I just lived my life keeping things to myself because it was easier for me this way.

I got closer and closer to Charlie as the days passed by and we could talk through everything honestly. He told me about the times when he was hiding, how his life was and how he had to change houses sometimes because he was scared they tracked him down.

I told him some of the events in more details, talked about Dylan, how he always was there for me and tried to protect me from everything. I told him about Anthony and Daniel as well, and that how much those days being tied up to that metal chair had ruined me.

He explained to me why he did what he did and it helped me to understand him more, but still I couldn't really forgive him for it. I don't know if I ever will. But I wasn't mad at him, or was rude to him, but it was always on my mind, anytime we talked, and I don't know when will I be able to look in his eyes without seeing images of him killing our parents.