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Someone is speaking to me; I hear voices and whispers around me but everything sounds faint, as though from a broken radio. The pain in my head keeps mounting. My lips part. I feel as though my body has gone through a series of gunshots. I move slightly, but my eyelids are heavy.
‘She’s moving.’
I tense my body, but every inch of my skin is on fire. I wished that someone would ease the pain. There are more voices around me but I don’t recognise them. I drift into dreams.
My eyes are dry as I blink myself awake. I turn my head around trying to get used to the illuminating bright light. My body is still sore, but the pain is more bearable than before. I am not in my own bed, as everything seems to be white. The smell is different as well.
Recognising my mother, I realise that I can't recall what happened. For some bizarre reason I feel drained as if I have just run a marathon. I can’t feel the lower part of my body. The headache keeps mounting and my throat is dry.
It takes me a moment to understand that I must be in hospital. All at once, my memories rush back to me. There are a few people in the room: a woman that just injected something into my left side; she must be a nurse. There is also an older bald man with a triangular face, narrow eyes and a long thin nose. I blink rapidly, trying to move my sore body, but my effort is worthless. Mum’s eyes are red and swollen. She isn't wearing any makeup and her hair is tangled. Had she been she crying?
‘How are you feeling, Ania?’ she asks, softly touching my hand.
‘Not sure. Drained,’ I reply, feeling uneasy. ‘Some water, please.’
The nurse gives me a glass with a straw and smiles sympathetically. The atmosphere in the room is tense, something is wrong and I feel as if everyone around me is hesitant to speak. As if they are afraid to tell me what’s happened. Mum shoots furious glances at the doctor as she is hoping that he won’t say anything to me.
‘What happened?’ I ask, looking around. I try to make myself comfortable, but every movement worsens my pulsing headache. I wish that I could see the rest of my body but I am feeling dreadful.
‘We will be back in a second, Miss Petrova,’ says the bald man who I assume is the doctor and he leaves the room with Mum and a nurse.
They completely disregarded my question and I suddenly want to punch someone. I hate when people treat me as though I’m not there. My memories go back as far as the late walk across the beach and I am sure that might have something to do with me being here. My mind is completely blank and I feel frustration shoot through me. I close my eyes, feeling anger pressing against me. My mind is going through the worst possible scenarios.
The hospital room is small and next to me there are greeting cards that are probably from my housemates or Gosia. There is a carton of juice on the small table. I turn my head towards the left side, trying to see the view from the window, but instead I realise that there is someone else standing there. It looks like I have more visitors than I expected, but the man by the window isn't looking at me.
‘I am sorry for this lack of introduction. So far I have been completely ignored,’ I say loudly, not recognising my own high-pitched tone. The man has black hair and seems to be completely lost in his thoughts because he isn't responding.
I can only assume that he is rude, pretending he hasn’t heard me. I have no idea what he is doing here; he can't belong to the hospital staff because he isn't wearing any uniform. He seems to be isolated from present reality. His dark hair is tangled and untidy. I notice his broad shoulders and gaze at him intensely for a several seconds trying to guess if he is taller than six foot.
‘Excuse me,’ I press, speaking louder than before. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit rude not to even look at me?’
He shifts his perfectly shaped body to the side and turns around, searching for my voice. I feel like an idiot losing my temper, flushing. The curtain of long black hair is covering his forehead. He narrows his prominent blue eyes and raises his left eyebrow with surprise. He has the most amazing eyes that I have ever seen; large, azure, like crystal-blue water in the sea. I am jolted when my mother suddenly enters, talking loudly, almost shouting at the doctor who is right behind her, looking irritated. She folds her arms and stands by my bed.
‘Ania, I wanted to wait to tell you, but Dr Roberts here insisted that you should know what happened,’ says Mum, crinkling her eyebrows.
Dr Roberts gives her a stiff nod and shifts uncomfortably to the side. ‘Well, Miss Petrova, you were stabbed a few days ago.’
All my memories flood back to the cold night on the beach. I stare at my mother, trying to recall the man that I saw that evening. I hurt my foot. I stopped, trying to search for my mobile, but then everything happened so fast. This man was right next to me …
‘Stabbed?’ I repeat, gasping.
‘Unfortunately, yes,’ adds Dr Roberts.
‘A runner found you in the early hours of the morning and she called an ambulance. You were very lucky – a few more hours and you wouldn’t be here with us,’ interrupts Mum.
‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Petrova. You were given strong painkillers. We have been able to patch your stomach together, but you will have to stay here for a couple of weeks to recover. The worst is over now, but you will be in a lot of pain,’ continues Dr Roberts.
After a few seconds, I stop trying to recall anything else from the fateful evening because my mind is blank and I feel a cold plunging sensation in my stomach.
‘The police want to see you,’ announces a nurse facing me. Her green eyes flash with anxiety.
‘Yes, Ania, try to tell them as much as you remember,’ says Mum sharply.
I exhale, realising that I stopped breathing for a moment while taking in all this information.
‘I need to see other patients, Miss Petrova, but I will be back shortly to check on you,’ says Dr Roberts, smiling, and he leaves the room along with the nurse.
After a few seconds of hesitation, Mother sits on the chair next to my bed. Then I realise that they have completely distracted me from the stranger by the window.
‘Mum, who is ...?’ I begin, but when I turn to my left, the space by the window is empty. It seems that the man has vanished, but how is this even possible? Apart from the doctor and nurse no one else left my room.
‘Yes darling?’
‘Never mind,’ I tell her, keeping my eyes at the empty space for a while. I am not sure if what I had just seen was a hallucination, but the man was definitely standing there before they all barged back into my room. I begin to wonder if I also might have a fever that could affect the other parts of my brain. The intensifying feeling of anxiety spreads throughout my veins.
‘Ania, I won't shout at you right now, but can you imagine what I was going through?’
I knew that sooner or later my mother would start this awkward conversation. I sigh and look at her. I was hoping that she might just let me rest, but she is going to tell me off.
‘Well ... I am sorry. It's not as if I planned to get stabbed, Mum,’ I say, not able to let go of the sarcasm. ‘I am really tired, Mum. Just let me rest and we can talk about this later.’
‘I know that you have to rest – I am a nurse for heaven's sake – but I don't think that you should stay in Swansea,’ she says, folding her arms together. The mad glare starts dancing in her eyes. ‘I will speak to Brighton University to see if they can transfer you.’
‘No!’ I shout and my heart starts racing. ‘I am not moving!’
I’m shaking, ready to have a long argument, but she looks worried. The pain in my forehead is sharp and makes me feel dizzy.
‘Calm down, you are not supposed to stress.’
‘Then don't try to change my life. I am a grown woman,’ I add through gritted teeth. She shifts her expression, realising that this conversation is making me agitated.
‘I can take care of myself,’ I say.
‘You are right, we can talk about this later,’ she agrees.
Fortunately for me, the nurse comes in and my mother instantly stops talking, as she hates arguing in front of other people. I am hoping that Mum will leave soon so I can get some rest and finally release this overwhelming tension. My body needs a long sleep and when the nurse underlines that visiting hours are over, I want to hug her. Mum isn't pleased, but she has to go back to London today. She has a twelve-hour shift tomorrow ahead of her, but she assures me that when she sorts out her annual leave she will be back shortly. She leaves the room, talking to herself in furious Russian.
I know that I might have scared her almost to death, but I am still alive. I am still trying to remember the man that attacked me. He couldn't have done it for money, as I didn't even have any cash on me. Perhaps he just decided to stab the first person that came along, for fun. I can't remember his face.
I am sure that I was hallucinating earlier about the odd individual in my room. He looked too perfect. I only saw him for a few minutes, but I am certain that my mind is playing tricks on me. I didn't even ask how long I was unconscious for. I am hoping that I won't have any more delusions. I can take a few weeks in hospital, but mental health problems are a different issue altogether. Before I start thinking about the enigmatic man, I close my eyes and drift into a dream.
The tearing pain in my stomach wakes me up late in the night. The clock on the wall is showing a few minutes past 2 am. The lower part of my body feels as though someone is tearing apart every inch of my skin, the excruciating sharp pulsing pain is penetrating my stomach. It's unbearable and I need to call for a nurse. I try to move a little but I am only making it worse. My room is separate, probably far from other wards, and I am alone. In the darkness, I try to find the switch to call for help, but I am not sure where it is or which button to press. I look around the room and I gasp in fear because I realise that I am not alone.
I see a tall figure by the window and my heart is in my throat. The searing pain slowly blinds me. My subconscious is telling me to scream; the shock mutes my words. I start sweating and shivering feverishly. I am in agony but my half-open eyes are gazing at the tall figure in the corner. I tell myself that he is only in my imagination and in a few seconds, the room will be empty. I close my eyes and start counting, ignoring the pain. In a moment I am going to be alone again.
Then I open my eyes. The man is standing just beside me. I part my lips, ready to scream, but my voice dies in my throat. In the darkness, the odd man looks real and if I had all my strength, I could reach out my hand and touch him. He places his palm on my forehead. His touch is warm and hypnotising. The pain slowly drifts out of my body and after a few seconds, I am dreaming about his thrilling azure eyes.
‘Breakfast,’ says someone, touching me gently.
I open my eyes, realising that it’s bright, early morning. I had slept for almost twenty-four hours straight. ‘Thank you.’
The nurse gives me a light smile. She comes back after a moment with more painkillers. ‘How are we feeling today?’ she asks, making sure that I start eating.
‘Better,’ I respond between mouthfuls.
After breakfast, I have another visit from Dr Roberts who looks surprised at seeing me with more energy. Then I remember the dream, which felt so real that I begin to wonder if I was actually dreaming at all. Delusions are pretty irrational and I wouldn't admit to anyone that I saw someone in my room in the middle of the night.
My bizarre dream is still on my mind. My mother doesn't mention the subject of university when she eats lunch with me; she knows that I shouldn’t stress. Instead, we talk about her work and Gosia, who already knows what happened. I had decided to talk to her that morning, reassuring her that I am fine despite the eight-inch wound across my stomach.
Before I fall asleep again, I ask for some sleeping tablets. I am afraid to wake up in the middle of the night with a new set of hallucinations. The nurse looks at me with concern, but she agrees after consulting with Dr Roberts. Luckily, my sleep isn't distracted during the night and when I wake up in the morning I genuinely feel better. The painkillers that I was given are successfully masking the pain around my stomach. I am still fragile, but I am hoping that I won’t stay in the hospital for much longer.
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