Love is a Dangerous Game

Sick (11)

“Lorelai?.... Lorelai…. Wake up, it’s me.” I could only think of one name, one voice. Lawrence? Was he here?

“Lorelai, it’s me, Faith.” Oh. Despite her sweetness, I was somewhat saddened by my aunt’s voice. My head still ached, my thoughts were foggy, and my legs felt numb. My eyes opened slowly, carefully. I sat up quickly, just to bring another pang of distress to my sore muscles. What happened? How long have I been out? I layed back down, and sat up more cautiously, surveying the room. I was in my bedroom, surrounded by my aunt and a few strangers dressed in white with masks. Doctors? Was I sick? I looked to my right to find a tray with syringes, needles, and cleansing wipes. I looked to my aunt in panic when I discovered multiple tubes attached to my arms, with red liquid flowing through them into my body. Before my aunt could reply to my fear stricken face with reassurance, I was brought under the drug flowing through those tubes.

I dreamt of happy and sad things. I dreamt Lawrence and I were reunited, and lived a happy life together, despite the obstacles we faced. I dreamt I was born a human, not a slave of the ocean, and my family actually loved me and accepted me for who I was. I also had dreams of some of my reality. The ocean entrapped me with her cruel waves and currents. Kathy really did kill me. My aunt disowned me because I was foolish. I got sick and died. But the ocean still kept my spirit alive, for herself, in order to make me suffer for my actions. In my dreams, I faced love, hate, grief, guilt, and fear.

Fortunately, I did wake up eventually, and escaped the confusing nightmarish world I lived in for what felt like forever.

“Aunt?” I questioned drearily.

“Yes, Lorelai.” I turned to my right to find her in a chair, holding my hand with both of hers. She had tears dripping down her face, and there were bags under her eyes. She wasn’t getting enough sleep.

“Aunt, what’s the matter? What happened to me?”

“You got sick.” Is all she could manage saying.

“How?” But I knew it was obvious.

“Drinking and depression.” I knew it! I was such a moron… I didn’t listen to my aunt’s warnings… which caused all of this.

“How long have I been out?” I choked.

“A little more than a week.” I groaned.

“Has Lawrence written since?”

“Lorelai, I don’t think it’s good to dwell on this boy-”

“Did he write?” I pressed harshly. She ducked her head, then nodded slowly. “Can I see the letters?”

“Lorelai-”

“Please?” So she stood with a squeeze of my hand, and left the room.