Beeping is the most irritating sound I've ever heard. I make that decision as I groan and try to roll over, the incessant sound so loud I want to scream at whoever is making it to shut up already.
Hands hold me down, voices I know as I open my eyes. Promptly turn on my right side and empty the contents of my stomach onto my father's shoes.
I feel better as I roll back, but the world is still wonky and I'm not sure I'm going to be okay ever again. The ceiling overhead is punctuated by white panels, a thick, green curtain wavering as my dad steps away, face contorted, while Mom turns her back, choking on something.
"Sorry," I whisper.
Dad shakes his head before taking my hand while a young woman in green scrubs appears, a wad of paper towels in her possession. She disappears over the edg
