A beautiful girl awoke in a hospital bed, surrounded by the incessant beeping of medical devices.
Tubes and wires were attached to her body, providing the necessary support to keep her alive.
The sterile scent of antiseptics filled the air, mingling with the low hum of machinery.
She groaned in excruciating pain, her entire body screaming in agony. The heart monitor beside her emitted a strange, erratic sound, signaling her distress.
At that moment, a thought pierced through the haze of her pain.
Am I dead? Where am I?
She remembered the hot bullet tearing through her skull, the blinding pain, the darkness that followed.
But now, she was awake, breathing, feeling the sharp sting of every nerve ending.
Her hand trembled as she reached up to touch her forehead, expecting to find a bullet wound.
W-what?! W-where…?
Instead, her fingers brushed against smooth, unbroken skin. There was no sign of the injury that should have been there.
Was it all just a dream? But why did it feel so real?
Her mind raced, trying to make sense of the disjointed memories and the stark reality of her current situation.
The pain, the fear, the confusion—it was all too vivid, too immediate.
She looked around the room, her vision blurred by tears and pain. The sterile white walls, the humming machines, the soft glow of the monitor screens—it was all too real.
No, this can't be a dream. But then, what is this? How am I still alive?
She tried to sit up, but the effort sent waves of pain crashing through her body, forcing her back down onto the bed. Her breathing came in ragged gasps as she struggled to calm her racing heart.
"Help..." she whispered, her voice barely more than a croak. "Someone, please..."
As she lay there, battling her pain and confusion, the door to her room slowly creaked open. A figure stepped inside, cloaked in shadow.
"You're awake," the figure said softly, stepping into the light. It was a doctor, his expression a mix of concern and relief. "You've been through a lot. It's a miracle you're alive."
She stared at him, her mind reeling. "What happened to me?" she managed to ask, her voice trembling.
The doctor approached her bedside, checking the monitors. "You were brought in with severe injuries. We've done everything we can to stabilize you. You're very lucky to be alive."
"A bullet pierced my head!"
"A bullet? What bullet, Mrs. Hawk?" The doctor laughed, seemingly understanding her confusion.
"Mrs.? Me?!"
The doctor looked at her with a gentle, reassuring smile. "Mrs. Hawk, you suffered severe head trauma from a fatal car accident that happened to you. You've been given a second chance. Rest now. We'll take care of you."
She stared at him, trying to process his words. "A car accident? But I remember… I remember being shot."
The doctor shook his head sympathetically. "Trauma can cause scrambled memories. Sometimes our brains create false memories to protect us from the actual pain."
Her mind swirled with confusion and doubt. She touched her forehead again, still unable to believe that there was no bullet wound. "But it felt so real…"
The doctor placed a comforting hand on her arm. "It takes time to heal, both physically and mentally. Just rest, Mrs. Hawk. You're safe here."
She closed her eyes, fighting back tears. The physical and emotional pain was overwhelming. "I feel like I'm going crazy…"
"You're not crazy," the doctor said softly. "You're a survivor. Focus on your recovery. Everything else can wait."
As the young woman lay in her hospital bed, the doctor carefully attached a syringe to the IV line, infusing a clear fluid into the tube that would carry it into her bloodstream.
Turning to a nurse standing by, the doctor instructed, "Inform Mr. Atlas Hawk that Mrs. Beatrice Hawk regained consciousness at 11:12. We will proceed with a comprehensive examination next."
"Wait—wait!" Beatrice tried to protest as she saw the doctor inject a sedative into her IV line, but it was too late. Her body didn't respond as swiftly as she was used to; she felt sluggish and weak.
The room began to spin slightly as the sedative took effect, her thoughts becoming foggy.
Panic flared in her chest as she realized her inability to control the situation. She strained against the heavy feeling pulling her back down into drowsiness.
"Please," she murmured weakly, reaching out with a trembling hand towards the doctor, her voice barely above a whisper. "What are you giving me?"
The doctor paused, noticing her distress but maintaining a professional demeanor. "It's just something to help you relax," he explained soothingly.
"You've been through a traumatic event, Mrs. Hawk. It's important to keep you calm so we can do a thorough assessment and ensure there's no further damage."
Beatrice's eyes flickered with a mix of fear and resignation. She knew arguing further would be futile in her weakened state.
As the edges of her consciousness began to blur, her mind grasped at the fragments of her disjointed memories, trying to piece together how she ended up here.
"Who is Atlas Hawk?" she managed to ask before the sedative pulled her under, her voice fading into silence.
The nurse exchanged a concerned glance with the doctor, then noted down Beatrice's question in her chart, suggesting a follow-up for potential confusion and memory issues.
"Wait!!! Atlas? Then I… I'm Beatrice?!" Her voice trembled with confusion and disbelief as she tried to assimilate the information.
The doctor offered a gentle smile, sensing her bewilderment. "Yes. Your name is Beatrice Hawk, you are Mr. Atlas Hawk's wife."
"What?! W-wife?! I… a woman?!"
*