Derek woke up in what was unmistakably an hospital room. Even with a fuzzy head and a blurry vision, he knew there was only one place were so much white would belong.
The sheets, the blind, even the walls and ceiling were white. He tried to rub his eyes, but discovered his right arm was cuffed to the bedside, while the left one felt so heavy, he couldn't muster the strength to lift it.
- "Must be the morphine. That or they tied me up." He thought. The last reasonable memory he had was about him killing the b*stard who had murdered his little brother.
"F*cking cops, couldn't just let me die? I don't know if it's because of the brain damage or because they have heavily drugged me, but that was one heck of a dream."
He shook his head, trying to clear up his vision.
