Hazy Perception

I am confined in darkness. Trapped beneath the scrap of fabric that covers my vision. The rustling of paper catches my attention. Paper? Or maybe a packet. I can’t really figure it out. His footsteps are heavy and the floor creaks under his weight. The sounds become louder and louder and suddenly the blind spots that surround me are filled with light; blinding light. After that, everything happens so fast. Suddenly I’m on the ground with something heavy leering above me. Someone. His weight presses against me. I’m drowning. I fight for every breath, expanding my lungs trying to get as much air in as possible.

I open my eyes. I am in a bed in a room with a white ceiling. I wonder how I got here. I’m shaking uncontrollably and the sound of beeping fills the air. People rush into the room. White coats are all I see before I’m drowning again. Caught in an abyss, floating from one place to another. Flittering through moments. I wake up in one moment and in the next I’m sinking again. I feel fragmented. As if pieces of me are flying around and I can’t even find the energy to catch them.

The sound of murmuring wakes me; people surround the bed I’m lying in. A man with black rimmed glasses is staring right at me. His mouth is moving but the sound doesn’t reach my ears. The haze that fills my head refuses to let go. I cannot escape it.

Someone is shaking me but I don’t want to open my eyes to the light again. It hurts. All that fills my vision is his face. The man with the black rimmed glasses. He is so close I can feel his breath touch my face. I shake and the bed creaks beneath me. He withdraws and straightens up,

“Hello, I am Doctor Evans. I have been treating you for the last five days. How are you feeling?”

I open my mouth to speak but all that comes out is a croak. I have forgotten how to speak. I try again.

“Where am I?”

My voice is scratchy and high pitched. This doesn’t sound like me.

“You are in White Bird hospital. You are safe.”

His words resonate deep inside me. I need to know more. I wonder if he can read my thoughts.

“You were rescued by a man called Spencer.”

Spencer? I don’t think I know a Spencer.

“You don’t know him; that is what he has told us. He brought you here after finding you lying unconscious by the river in Southside. We have done various tests and scans to find out exactly what has happened to you. We have found evidence which suggests that you have been sexually assaulted.”

The words falling out of the doctor’s mouth don’t reach my ears. I grasp the white linen bed sheet. My fingers falling into the holes that it is made of. Sexually assaulted. I was raped. Why can’t I remember it? My stomach tightens at the mention of rape.

“You may not remember. You have been in and out of consciousness for the past few days …”

The sound of my heavy, rapid breaths fills my ears. I need to focus. The doctor is still talking as I can see his mouth moving but I only hear soft murmurs. I concentrate on his face and I catch the last few sentences.

“..Spencer has been waiting for your recovery. He would like to meet you. Would you like me to call him in?”

I wonder why a stranger would wait for my recovery. I don’t know whether to be flattered or frightened. I realise that the doctor is waiting for me to give him an answer.

I nod.

I don’t know if I do.

A few minutes later, a broad shouldered man staggers into the room.

“Hello, I’m Spencer.”

His voice is deep. He sounds familiar. He looks around warily.

“Are you ok?”

He is staring at me expectantly.

I nod.

“I just need to know that you are alright.”

I stare at him for longer than I should, not knowing how to respond. Tears begin to pool in my eyes and spill across my cheek. He looks at me, unsettled, and walks out of the room, leaving me confused.

So much has happened that I am unable to recall. I attempt to get up but fall back onto the bed. It seems all my strength has disappeared from my limbs. I need to do something to stop myself from falling again. I reach out to the bedside drawer and the door swings open.

The man with the black rimmed glasses. He examines me from head to toe. I feel uncomfortable under his excruciating gaze. “Where are you going?” “I just need to walk for a while.” He walks away leaving me standing at the doorstep. I sit on a wooden bench and stare at the rose bushes. I pick one of the white roses. Blood trails down my finger.

I remember rushing home from work and then recalling that I had left my phone at the bar so I walked back. It was dark. The streetlights weren’t working so the only source of light was the moon peeking through the clouds. I stare at the blood trailing down my finger. Darkness. A blindfold. A man. Two men. I only heard their voices.

The deep voice that sounded familiar. Spencer. I remember his voice. He was there. I sit and stare at the perfect white roses. I notice a speck of dirt covering each of the perfect white roses.

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