Hazel's POV
The sterile white walls of the hospital room were suffocating, a cold reminder that nothing in this world felt familiar. My head throbbed in rhythmic pulses, each beat an insistent reminder that I was, in some way, disconnected from the world around me. The air smelled too clean, too antiseptic, and I couldn't tell if it was the air or my own mind that felt heavy.
I blinked, my eyes sluggish as they tried to adjust to the stark, blinding fluorescent lights overhead. My breath was shallow, and as I tried to sit up, a sharp pain shot through my chest, making me wince. It was a jarring sensation, like my body wasn't mine—like it didn't belong to me at all.
Where am I?
I had no answers, not even the faintest memory of how I had gotten here. My fingers moved to my temples, pressing lightly, hoping to release some of the pressure building in my skull. Nothing. My mind felt like it was encased in fog, and the harder I tried to focus, the further away the answers slipped.
A soft sound interrupted my thoughts—a faint click of the door opening, followed by the soft padding of footsteps.
"Ah, you're awake," a voice said, warm and soothing but laced with the kind of professional tone that made me feel like I was in a clinical setting—a place where my existence was just a case number.
I turned my head slowly, the movement dizzying as a woman in a white lab coat stepped into view. She was tall, with short-cropped brown hair and glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. Her smile was kind but distant, like she had seen this same situation a thousand times before.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice calm.
"Where am I?" The words came out raspier than I intended, like I hadn't spoken in days, or maybe years.
The woman didn't seem startled by my question, as if she was accustomed to patients asking the same thing. "You're in St. Martin's Hospital. You were brought in a few days ago after being found in a car accident. The crash was severe, but you're stable now."
Car accident? I searched my mind, but it was like trying to dig through a pile of dirt with bare hands. Nothing. Just the sense of dislocation—the gnawing feeling that I didn't belong here, that I wasn't supposed to be alive.
"Your memory might be a little foggy for a while," the woman continued. "It's normal after a traumatic event like this. It will come back in time."
I nodded, but the words didn't settle in my mind. A part of me wanted to ask her more questions, wanted to demand answers. But the thought of opening my mouth, of trying to make sense of any of it, felt like an impossible task.
Instead, I turned my attention to the small table next to my bed, where a glass of water sat, condensation beading on the outside. I reached for it, my hands trembling slightly as I lifted it to my lips. The coolness of the water felt soothing, but it did little to ease the gnawing emptiness inside.
"I'll give you a moment to rest," the woman said, watching me carefully. "I'll be back shortly with some more information."
I managed a weak nod, too tired to even try to ask her for more details. She left quietly, leaving me alone with the chaos in my head.
I stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours. My mind was a labyrinth of disconnected thoughts, memories that didn't belong to me, sensations that seemed out of place. My body ached as if it had lived a thousand lifetimes, but nothing about it felt real. The more I tried to think, the less I felt like myself.
Who was I?
The question came like a whisper, a ghost in the back of my mind. But I didn't have an answer. Nothing about me felt concrete. My name? A void. My life? A dream that faded every time I tried to catch it.
The door opened again, but this time it wasn't the woman in the lab coat.
A man stepped inside, tall, dressed in a dark suit. He was older than I expected—mid-forties, maybe—his hair dark and combed back neatly, but there was a certain weight to his presence, like he was used to being in control. His gaze locked on me, and for a moment, I swore he saw right through me.
"I'm Mr. Davis," he introduced himself, his voice smooth but serious. "I'm the social worker assigned to your case."
My mind tried to process the information, but it felt like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands.
"Case?" I repeated, still unable to find my bearings.
"Yes," he said, his tone softening just a fraction. "You've been placed into foster care, Miss Lopez."
Lopez. My last name felt foreign on my tongue, like it didn't belong to me.
I stared at him, confused. "Foster care?"
He nodded. "Your biological parents... they're no longer able to take care of you." His voice was gentle, but there was an undertone of something else, something that made the words feel heavy, like they were too much for me to bear.
"I... I don't remember them," I whispered, the weight of his words pressing down on me.
"Don't worry," he said, pulling a chair closer to my bed. "You'll be placed with a family soon. They're kind, well-off, and prepared to give you the care and attention you need to heal."
But I didn't care about that. I didn't care about being placed with some "kind" family. All I cared about was the emptiness that gnawed at me, the void in my chest where memories should be.
"Your parents were very well-known people in the business world," Mr. Davis continued, as if reading from a script. "We'll help you get all the information you need when you're ready."
I stared at him, the weight of his words hanging in the air. "Ready?" I repeated, my voice faint.
He nodded. "You don't have to rush. There's a lot of time for you to heal and process everything. We'll support you in any way we can."
But I didn't feel ready for any of it. I didn't feel ready for answers, for a new family, or for whatever life had waiting for me.
As he stood up and made his way to the door, I felt something stir in the back of my mind. A flicker, like a candle struggling to stay lit in a storm.
"What about my memories?" I asked, my voice breaking the silence.
He paused in the doorway, looking back at me with a hint of sympathy. "They'll come back. It's just a matter of time. You're stronger than you realize, Hazel."
Hazel.
I let the name settle in my mind, feeling it on my lips like an unfamiliar taste. But it didn't feel like mine. Nothing did.
As the door clicked shut behind him, I was left in the silence again. Alone, with only the pounding of my heart and the echo of that name in my ears. Hazel.
A name that wasn't mine. A life that wasn't mine. A past I couldn't remember.
I closed my eyes, hoping for sleep to take me away from this place, but my dreams had already claimed me.
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Author's Note:
Thank you for reading this chapter! Hazel's journey is just beginning, and things will only get darker from here. Her past is a mystery, but the truth is waiting to be uncovered—no matter how dangerous it may be.
Let me know your thoughts! Your support means a lot, and I hope you're ready for the twists, betrayals, and chaos that lie ahead.
Stay tuned for the next chapter—revenge is only just beginning.