We walk back into the room in silence and, although silent, I know she wants to ask a lot of questions.
“How long have you been throwing up, Taylor?” She asks more worryingly than curiously.
“Since four days now.” I trail off, not paying attention to her.
“Taylor. We need to see the doctor.”
Not again.
I walk away from her and head to my bed, but the more I move closer, the further away it gets and my eyes close and my feet give up and lose their hold on the ground and I lose my balance and fall onto the bare floor.
.
.
.
Slowly I open my eyes and I see that I’m in an unfamiliar room, painted white and green curtain covering its sides and panic strikes my heart and I seat up quickly, about to bolt the next moment when I feel a hand holding onto mine in a tender caress and I look to see mom eyes, carefully looking at me.
“Where am I, mom?” I demand, looking around for inspection.
My mind tells me I’m in a hospital, but I shut it up.