A painful reality

"Finally, you are awake. I have been waiting for you to open your eyes," a soft voice gently breaks through the fog of my mind, gradually clearing the blurriness surrounding me.

As my vision sharpens, I begin to discern the sterile, white ceiling above me, its stark brightness contrasting with the chaotic thoughts swirling in my head.

"So, it was all just a dream," I muse, a wave of relief washing over me. "Thank God I don't have to relive that nightmare." The darkness of my recent memories lingers, still haunting the edges of my consciousness.

As I struggle to piece together what has just transpired, a torrent of questions floods my mind. Where am I? How did I end up here?

"Oh, honey, don't cry," the voice chimes again, and I strain to identify the speaker. My eyes dart around the room, but I cannot recognize the face before me. I fumble in my recollections, trying desperately to make sense of this unfamiliar presence.

"You poor girl, let me help you," the tender voice continues. I hear footsteps approaching, and soon, the source of the voice appears before me.

A nurse stands there, clad in a crisp uniform that contrasts with the soft warmth of her demeanor. She leans in closer, her hand brushing my cheek with a gentle touch, and I feel the softness of her skin against my tear-streaked face. When she pulls away, her sad smile tugs at something deep within me, and I suddenly realize that I have been crying.

Terrifying memories of the horrific events that have unfolded in my life replay in vivid detail, flashing through my mind like a disorienting film. My heart pounds violently in my chest as I begin to search the room, my eyes darting around frantically, seeking both familiarity and answers.

"Calm down, miss; you will hurt yourself," the nurse urges softly, holding my trembling body still. I am too weak to fight back, my limbs heavy and unresponsive. After a few moments of restless squirming, I finally surrender, allowing my body to relax, too exhausted to resist.

"There we go. Was that so hard?" she asks, her smile unwavering as she releases me. Taking a deep breath, I can feel my senses returning, though they come back slowly, like dawn breaking after a long night.

My mouth is parched, the dryness scraping at my throat like coarse sandpaper. My nose, once congested, now feels surprisingly clear, allowing me to detect the sharp and potent scent of antiseptics that hangs thick in the air. My body feels utterly drained, a profound fatigue settling deep within my bones, making it feel almost miraculous that I had the strength to fight back at all.

"Where am I?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, sounding hoarse and weak, like a dying frog croaking for help. But beneath this question lies a depth of confusion and despair that feels even more pressing than my immediate need for answers.

"Dear, you are in the hospital," the nurse says, leaving me frozen in shock. I remember driving away from David and his new girlfriend, planning to find a hotel to stay in because there was no way I would let Mia see how messed up this situation was. She would probably go ballistic.

"How?" I asked, knowing the only way I could have ended up here was if I was in a car accident. Did I get seriously injured? I don't feel anything, but that could be because the anesthetic is still in my system.

Or worse, what if someone else got injured because of me?

Thoughts race in my mind, giving me a headache. I try to ask more questions, but I can't seem to form the words; there's a lump in my throat that prevents me from speaking.

"You got into a car accident, but you're fine. You seemed to have passed out from stress or overexertion," the nurse says, and her words start to sink in.

"Stress" is the right word to describe the situation.

The nurse sees that I can't say anything and reaches for a glass, passing it to me.

"I understand what you're going through," she continues.

"We young women face these challenges all the time. Though I am married, I've had my heart broken quite a few times," she adds, checking my vitals and writing them down in her notes.

"Heartbreak?" I say confused , questions hang at the tip of my tongue, and now that my voice feels less constricted, the urge to ask grows stronger. But I stay quiet, knowing that if I talk about him, I might cry.

"But honestly, I think the worst thing that relationship drama can cause is turning us girls against each other," she says sadly, looking down at her notepad with a sigh before turning to me and giving me a pitiful glance.

"What do you mean?" I ask, wondering if she's talking about her own life experience or mine. If it's hers, then we have a lot in common, and if not, I'll just have to find out how she knows.

"When you were brought in, they went through your emergency contact list and called your boyfriend since he was the first name listed," she says, and I can tell how heartbreaking this news is going to be.

"He didn't pick up at first, but when he finally did, he sounded annoyed. When we told him what happened, it seemed like the phone was taken away, and then a high-pitched voice started screaming and saying nasty things."

"It was horrible," she says, scrunching her nose in disgust.

The pain in my chest feels like the empty void in my heart has grown bigger—too big to close.

I already knew that no one loves me: not my mother, not my dad, and especially not David.

I shouldn't have wasted my time thinking about it when I know it will never happen for me. I am done with love.

"Don't feel bad, dear. At least the person who dropped you off was a charming prince, a real guardian angel."

"A charming prince?"