Chapter 3

The ocean feels too peaceful, as if it knows my end is near. My mind hasn't surrendered yet, but it seems my body has. I'm no longer thrashing around in pain, no longer fighting for survival. My body has finally accepted the invitation of death. "Wonderful," i thought in my mind

Just as an imaginary tear slowly slips down my cold, wet cheek. More forgotten memories resurfaces, pulling me under once more.

Waking up usually felt liberating, like breaking free from chains that only existed in sleep. But this time, something was wrong. I was chained, but not by anything I could see. It was as if my own body had betrayed me, heavy and unresponsive, held down by an invisible force. Panic bubbled up inside me, but I couldn't move, couldn't fight. My throat felt quite sore, and when I tried to swallow, I felt it, something foreign lodged deep in my oesophagus. A tube, cold and painful, snaked down into my throat, forcing air into my lungs, keeping me alive. But it was nothingbut agony, unleasing an unrelenting pain with every breath. My eyes felt sewn shut, heavy as if leaden weights hung from my eyelids. I struggled, over and over, to open them, but when I finally succeeded, I was met with a blinding, brutal light that seemed to pierce straight through to my skull. My eyes couldn't stand it, so they quickly fled back into darkness, just like me, trapped in a body that no longer felt like my own.

The pain was overwhelming, suffocating, but at last, I could see. I was in a room bathed in harsh fluorescent lights, surrounded by strange, rhythmic beeping sounds.

"He's awake!" a voice shrieked, shattering the silence.

"Call the doctor!" someone else shouted, their words filled with urgency.

My senses were overloaded, the noise, the lights, the unbearable discomfort of the tube in my throat. I thrashed around, desperate to escape, but something held me down, something strong and unyielding. My blurred vision caught sight of a figure, a ghostly silhouette in a white gown, bathed in light, like an angel or a spectre.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!" I screamed, my voice raw and broken, the sound ripping through my throat like shards of glass.

I couldn't move, couldn't stop screaming, the tube in my throat tearing at me from the inside. But then the discomfort vanished. I felt fine, as if nothing had happened, but then I felt an overwhelming drowsiness that pulled at me once more, dragging me down into the darkness i tried to escape.

Was I dying again? Or was I already dead? Is this what hell feels like? These series of thoughts spiralled through my mind, looping endlessly, until I finally slipped back into unconsciousness, the beeping of the machines fading into the void.

Beep… beep… beep…

The sound was relentless, monotonous but somehow soothing, a rhythmic reminder of life or something similar to it. I lay there, listening to the soft voices of others, too distant to make out, but close enough to keep me grounded in this strange reality. Slowly, painfully slowly, I opened my eyes, careful not to be blinded as before. The world around me was hazy, diving in and out of focus. I could finally make out what the ghostly figure was, it was the doctor, his face stern but focused, his hands moving with practiced precision as he adjusted something on my hand. It was only then that I realized he was preparing my IV, connecting me to the lifeline that kept me tethered to this forsakened world.

I felt more at ease, more in control than before. I could breathe without that suffocating tube in my throat. I could move, though my limbs felt heavy and foreign, like they belonged to someone else. My eyes could finally scan the room, taking in the sterile, impersonal surroundings, then they found her, my sister. She was sitting in a chair by the window, her eyes glued to the television, her face illuminated by the flickering screen. I stayed silent, just observing, too tired to speak, too drained to even try. But then, as if sensing my gaze, she looked up and noticed me. Her eyes widened, and then she screamed, the sound sharp and painful, piercing through the quiet room, but I tolerated it as I did not want to black out once again.

The nurses rushed in, their footsteps echoing in the small room, followed by my mother. For the first time, I saw actual love and care in her eyes, a deep, overwhelming concern that felt quite foreign, i wondered if my father could show such expressions. They talked about how I had been in a coma, and how they found me on the floor, bleeding. I suppose they didn't realize I had tried to end it all. No one asked about the rope. The doctor mentioned that he needed to do more tests, some memory checks too, to ensure I was okay. They said I had been in a coma for about three months. Three months lost in a void, dancing on the edge of death. To me, it felt like a moment, but in the real world, it was a very long and tiresome time.

Three months.... I couldn't wrap my mind around it. Three months of my life "gone", just like that. Three months in the nothingness, where time didn't exist, where pain and suffering were just distant echoes. The tests went well, they said. My body had healed faster than they expected. I had a week before I would be discharged, a week to remember who I was, who I had been before all of this. It surprised me, given how they described my condition when they found me, on the brink of death, barely hanging on. But I was still here, alive, though I wasn't sure if I should have been grateful for it.

My sister laughed about how I screamed when I first woke up, how I thrashed around like a madman, and it lightened the mood for everyone. But there were no visits from friends, only family. It hurt, Abraham hadn't come. Abraham, my best friend, the one who kept me from doing leaving sooner, the shackle that held me until now. We were always close, practically brothers. But he didn't visit. Not even once.

I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Abraham wouldn't just abandon me, not like this. I asked my sister if he had come, but she hesitated, her eyes shifting away from mine.

"Did he visit?" I asked again, my voice weak, trembling with the need to know.

"You don't need to worry about that," she said, avoiding my gaze.

"What do you mean? Did he come or not?" I demanded, confusion and fear rising in my chest.

She looked at me with sad eyes, eyes filled with a pain I couldn't understand, and walked out of the room. I was more confused than ever, but I chose not to press any further. It seemed she wasn't planning to tell me anything, and that only made the knot of anxiety in my chest tighten.

My mother came in later, asking about how I felt. I couldn't bear to tell her the truth, couldn't bear to see the disappointments in her eyes, so I lied. I told her I couldn't remember, that my memory was fuzzy, that I got headaches whenever I tried to recall anything. She believed me, surprisingly easily, which only added to the strangeness of it all. Everything felt off, it all felt like a dream I couldn't wake up from, a nightmare that refused to end. I couldn't wait to leave that hospital, to escape the sterile walls and the constant beeping that had become a haunting background noise.

Although I lied to my mother about memory loss, it seemed I truly couldn't remember everything. I felt like an empty shell, lost in time, with no purpose, no direction. I spent that week trying to piece together the fragments of my memory, to understand the sadness and uneasiness that weighed on me. But one question gnawed at me, the absence of my best friend. Abraham, the one person who should have been there, hadn't come. After all the promises we made to each other, I felt utterly alone.