Elián;
It's been fourteen days.
I know because I've been counting. Two weeks of fluorescent lights, hospital food, and the same acoustic ceiling tiles. I could probably draw every stain and crack on them from memory.
Today I'm leaving. Which is probably the most surprising part of it all. I've been awake for just...two weeks since a 6-month-long coma...and they're discharging me. I find it preposterous, but...who would I tell that? It's not like I enjoy being stuck in here anyways...
I'm sitting on the edge of my bed in Room Nine, fully dressed for the first time since I woke up, in a pair of grey joggers and a hoodie a nurse found in the donation bin. They're two sizes too big. The sleeves hang over my hands, which is perfect, because I need them to hide my hands.
I haven't taken my hands out of my sleeves in front of anyone since that night.
