Coma.

I'm unsure on how many days have passed.

Is it even days? Maybe it's been weeks.

It feels like long dragged out years.

I sigh heavily and rub my eyes forcing them to stay awake. I haven't left her side, only to shower and get a change of clothes. I spend every night clutching her hand tightly and making do with the uncomfortable chair next to her bed. I'd been sat on it for so long, my arse has definitely left an imprint on the murky brown leather.

My eyes are heavy, hours of spending long nights and days awake by her bedside praying for her to wake up. The dark circles underneath my eyes are obvious and my face is drawn in, pale and ghostly.

I can't eat and I definitely can't sleep. I'm a living zombie, watching the world go by whilst my own seemed to be one big blur.

How could I possibly sleep when every time I close my eyes the gunshot would echo loudly?