Woke up

OLIVIA JUNE 

As I gradually opened my eyes to the blinding light, I realized I was in an unfamiliar room. Confusion washed over me—was I already in heaven? Had my prayers finally been answered?

Pain coursed through my entire body, as if I had been struck by a barrage of stones. My head pounded relentlessly, causing my vision to blur.

As I turned my head, the stark reality hit me: I was in a hospital.

Who had come to my aid? My mother or perhaps our neighbor? My mind was still clouded with pain and confusion, and tears began to well up in my eyes when I suddenly heard someone exclaim. "Oh my God, you’re awake! Doctor! Doctor!"

“Mom?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“I’m coming, sweetheart, just hold on.” she replied.

“Mom.” I wanted to apologize for the trouble I had caused her, but thankfully, she returned to my bedside.

“Why would you do something like this?” she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks as she grasped my hand tightly.

I recounted everything that had happened since I enrolled at Oak Mountain School, including the torment I endured from Charlotte, Reuben and Jerry, my ex-boyfriend.

“So all these scars and bruises are the result of those kids?” she asked, her voice trembling as more tears fell.

I nodded in response.

“They noticed the changes in you, yet none of the teachers or the principal did anything to call or warn me. What kind of people are they?” Her tears transformed into anger, a sight that shocked me; it was the first time I had witnessed her so furious.

“Why didn’t you tell me, my child? You’re all I have. What if…” Her voice broke, and my heart shattered.

I couldn’t bear to see her in pain; this was my mother, the one I had hurt. I turned my gaze away, unable to confront the anguish in her eyes.

“I thought I could handle it alone, Mom. I hoped the bullying would stop, and I didn’t want to add to your stress.”

Sensing my distress, she gently turned my face to meet hers. “I’m so sorry, my child. I wish I had realized sooner…”

I interrupted her, raising my hand. “Mom, I’m the one who should be sorry. I truly am.”

She nodded, managing a pained smile.

“While you were at work, who brought me here?” I asked, still perplexed.

“Oh, dear. It was our neighbor. She called me first, informing me that you had a bandage on your head. I told her to check on you until I arrived, but I was late.” Her eyes began to glisten with tears again.

I felt a wave of guilt wash over me for making her cry, yet I was also relieved that Mrs. Lance had intervened in time. I was alive because of her. My own tears began to flow as I witnessed the pain etched on my mother’s face.

“Sweetheart, you were unconscious for five days. I prayed tirelessly for your recovery. The doctor informed me that your body and brain had gone into shock, and it was up to you to wake up on your own.”

What? I fainted.

Minutes after regaining consciousness, I found myself alone in the room.

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing the doctor clad in his white coat.

I looked up at him, greeting him with a raspy, “Hello.”

“Hello.” he replied.

He quickly retrieved a glass of water and a straw from the nightstand, helping me sip until I signaled with my hand that I had enough.

He then picked up a notebook and began to flip through its pages.

Questions swirled in my mind—questions about why I had resorted to such drastic actions.

I could hear someone sobbing outside, and it sounded like my mother.

“How are you feeling, Olivia?” the doctor asked, placing the notebook on the table while shining a small flashlight into my eyes.

“I’m okay, just a little headache.” I answered.

He nodded and made notes in his book.

A week had passed in the hospital, a somewhat torturous experience for me. When I was awake, a nurse would stay by my side to ensure I was no longer a danger to myself.

Each day, I was given medication for depression and anxiety, and they made sure I took my pills and met with a therapist.

I longed to leave the hospital; my mother visited daily, but the sterile environment was monotonous. The food was bland, and the endless cycle of sleep and waking only served to amplify my misery.

Jessica called occasionally to check on me, expressing her remorse for not being brave enough to help. I reassured her that she had made the right choice; intervening might have made things worse.

We shared a laugh when she mentioned how I had handled Charlotte, noting that even now, her nose looked awkward. I insisted that I never wanted to hear about that school again, and she respected my wishes.

She asked if I planned to return to Oak School, but I expressed my doubts. My mother had confronted the administration about the bullying, yet they shockingly requested proof, which I knew would be impossible to obtain since every student had been complicit. She understood my perspective but was saddened by the entire situation.

A week went by.

Today, the doctor entered with good news—my mother was called to bring me home. I was no longer a threat to myself.

Joy surged through me. Upon returning home, my mother asked what I wanted to do next, and I proposed relocating to a new city. To my relief, she agreed wholeheartedly, and I began my senior year through homeschooling.