"Tu es enfin réveillé."
(You're finally awake.)
As I slowly regained consciousness, the first thing I saw was the concerned face of an elderly man I didn't recognize.
"Qui es-tu? Pourquoi suis-je ici? Ce qui s'est passé?"
(Who are you? Why am I here? What happened?)
Confusion and fear raced through my mind as I tried to piece together what had happened. My hands instinctively reached up to touch the bandages that covered my face, a sharp reminder of the unknown danger I had apparently faced.
"Tu dois gagner en force."
(You need to gain strength.)
"De quoi parles-tu? Où est mon papa?"
(What are you talking about? Where's my daddy?)
He sighed and sat beside me, and give me a worried look.
"J'appellerai mon médecin, il vous expliquera tout."
(I will call my doctor, he will explain everything to you.)
"Mais avant ça, tu dois te reposer." He continued.
(But before that, you need to take a rest.)
Huh? Why can't he say it now? What's really happening?
"Qui es-tu?" I repeat.
(Who are you?)
I mustered the strength to ask the stranger by my bedside what had transpired, why I found myself in a hospital bed with no memory of how I got here.
As he began to recount the events that led us to the hospital, a wave of terror washed over me. I realized that just a few hours prior, my father and I had been on a routine car ride that quickly turned into a nightmare.
He said, we had been chased by a mysterious figure, driving us to the brink of disaster. He explained that he was the one who had discovered us, both unconscious and covered in blood, in the aftermath of the terrifying ordeal.
"Mais pour l'instant, ne réfléchissez pas trop, votre père était entre de bonnes mains."
(But for now don't overthink too much, your dad was on the good hands.)
The image of my father's injured body and my own bloody head filled me with a sense of dread unlike anything I had ever experienced.
I can't afford to lose my dad.
"Pourquoi me lances-tu un regard inquiet?" I said.
(Why are you giving me a worried look?)
"Parce que j'ai aussi une fille." Oh?
(Because I have a daughter too.)
I was about to ask again when his phone suddenly rang.
"Donne-moi une seconde." He mentioned, so I nodded to him as an answer.
(Give me a second.)
I just looked at him, observing.
"Bonjour, ma belle fille."
(Hello, my beautiful daughter.)
"Bonjour papa."
YOU ARE READING
I Become More Obsessed To Her
RomanceCeline Amorane Saffian Romanée was a professor and originated from a thriving lineage. Meanwhile, Hestia Aveny Vior Carlson thrives as a fashion model.
