He was gone. He was really gone. I was alone. In this subconscious space, but just as much in the real world, I was really, trully alone. No Aaron. There was no point anymore in doing anything. For a moment, I even thought there was no point in even staying alive. How could he elude me again? Was I never going to find him? Who even was he? With those questions left unanswered, my consciousness started slipping away from me. Was I dying? Well, was it important?

The next moment I had a consciousness, I also had a sense of smell, and it was unmistakeable as the hospital smell was extremely pervasive. I was back in my own body, then, and I was still in the hospital. I tried to engage my muscles and sit up, when I heard rumbles and a nurse walking over to me.

“Steady,” a tired, female voice said.

“Wha-“ I uttered, trying to make sense of everything.

“You’re still in hospital, and you’re waking up from an induced coma. Don’t strain yourself,” she said.

More footsteps. Doors opening. “Induced coma?”

“Yes,” she said. “Get Stromberg in.”

“Okay,” another female voice said, before I heard the doors close and footsteps slowly getting quieter.

“Stromberg?” I said.

“Your doctor,” she said. “He’ll guide you through the first few steps. Your body is weak.”

“Okay,” I said. “Can I open my eyes?”

“Give me just a moment,” she said, and walked away, before I heard a click and the background light behind my eyelids disappeared. “Should be safe now.”

I opened my eyes to see nearly nothing, but even the darkness was painful as my eye muscles had to adjust to outside for the first time in who knows how long. “How long have I been out?” I said.

“Three weeks,” she said. “As to why, you’re about to find out.”

The door to the room opened, and through them came a tall man with sharp facial features. He looked distinctly non-English, and then I remembered why.

“Doctor Stromberg?” I said, turning my head towards the man, to no lack of complaint from my neck muscles.

“Yes, it’s me,” he said. “I’ve been monitoring you for the past three weeks, ever since you gave them quite a fright in the operating room.”

“What happened?” I said. “I want to know where three weeks went.”

“All in due time,” he said. “You’re not ready for that yet. Let your brain readjust to existing first.”

“I want to know,” I said. “How did I give them a fright?”

“It’s not safe,” he said. “I’ve been told to give it 24 hours before telling you.”

I grumbled, but agreed. “You’re the doctor here.”

“Yes, I am,” he said. “The more pressing thing now is exercising your muscles. It’s only been weeks since you’ve last walked, so it shouldn’t be too long before you’re walking again, but we’ll take it easy. Don’t want to exacerbate the damage, after all.”

“Alright, what do you want me to do?” I said, before being blinded.

“Ow!” I yelped. What was that?”

“Eye muscles and tongue working well,” he said.

One body part by one, he went through my entire body and made sure all the nerves were still firing, even if the muscles might have atrophied. It was the most physically painful three hours of my life, but I made it out in one piece, and just as we finished, the sun peeked over the horizon.

“Good,” he said. “You’re clear for physiotherapy. Anything else you’d like to tell me?”

“Yes,” I said. “But can I have breakfast first?”

“Give me just a moment,” he said, and walked out of the room, probably to consult his peers about giving me actual food instead of the IV drip that I’d been on.

To none of my surprise, he came back with a wheelchair for me. My nurse, whose name I never found out, pulled my IV needle out, and she and the doctor himself held me up to avoid load-bearing on my legs, before putting me in the chair.

“Will you be alright?” the doctor asked. “I have to go, but I’ll see you tonight. We’ll talk reasons and specifics tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning? Why?” I asked.

“They said 24 hours after waking up, and I would prefer not to wake you up at 4 in the morning again. You need rest, Jordan. Your brain doesn’t need to be flooded with information, it’s the last thing you need,” he said.

“Fine, fine,” I said. “I’ll entertain myself.”

 The nurse guided me to the canteen, even letting me roll my wheels to exercise my arms, which was very nice of her. The canteen was a very quiet place at sunrise, with only the workers there. I had it all to myself, and it felt nice. Silence was exactly what I needed right now.

After being served a warm bowl of soup by one of them, the nurse thanked them for me, and helped me sit at the actual table. I tried to listen to her, find out why she was being so nice to me, but there was nothing there. If I still had the ability to hear emotions, there was nothing from her. She was just doing her job.

As soon as the first spoonful of soup touched my lips, the first thing I felt was relief. It was an unconscious reaction more than anything, probably my body’s way of thanking me I’m still alive. However, the second thing I felt was the onslaught of everything else. I was still real, and still in hospital. And there was no Aaron.

The wave of emotion hit me hard, and I swallowed the soup with the last bit of my strength before putting my head in my hands again and sobbing. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t in my life. He was, for all I knew, a figment of my imagination, and that figment of imagination led me to almost dying. Again.