It was often difficult to register the passage of time within the quiet walls of the ICUâsometimes even difficult to realize if this was the waking world or merely a dream orchestrated by a disoriented brain. Sometimes an eye would agree to openâits counterpart so horribly beaten it was mostly for the best that it did not follow suitâand would peer warily about the room, where on occasion, there would be someone of importance sitting, offering comfort and support, despite the bleak path that lay ahead.
For once, however, it seemed that Peter was alone, his heart sinking at the thought of no one being around.  He was aloneâwhere was he?  He hadnât a clue, and it was impossible to ask, as his throat was obscured by somethingâah.  Perhaps he was in the hospital?  But he couldnât recall why he would be here to begin with, nothing came to mind that could have caused him to be hereâŚ
But there was someone present, actually. Â At the doorway, talking to another in white scrubs, perhaps a doctor? Â He wasnât sure who this person was, but something stirred familiarityâas if he should know who this person was, but nothing came to him but a fog of unease as he settled into realizing that something with himself wasnât right.
The question spoke through his expression, eyebrows quirked as he tried to study the face of this person and assign a nameâbut nothing came.
There was never a reason for him to be in a hospital anymore. When his mother died, it was the last time he was there. When he was four, dressed out of nice clothes she bought him and into rags, watching her take her last breath. He decided he never wanted to go back to one.
And here he was. His throat felt closed, his hands shook too much to trust himself to write anything, so he asked the nurse to write his message. Course, he signed his name on the card. His eyes burned, and he didnât know why. The door opens to the room, and heâs allowed in.
The sight makes him wanna throw up. Not in disgust, no, just. He doesnât know. His throat feels tighter, there might be a tear burning at his eyes but he blinks it away. He slowly approaches, tightly clutching this silly teddy bear with a green shirt on it, a card. He doesnât know what the say, what to do.
He sits down stiffly, staring at him with a blank expression. He canât think of a word to say, why? Gently, he sets the teddy bear, very very gently, next to Peter. âHeya buddy.â He whispers, voice wavering. âItâs me, J-Jacob.â
germansingergirl
discoholicmusic
ellievsbear
amandla
stormborns
