DON’T TRUST THEM
Beep. Beep. Beep.
That's the first thing I hear.
Then white. Everything is white. Too bright. My eyes are burning.
"She's waking up! Doctor!"
I try to move. I can't. Something is holding my hand. A tube is in my nose. My mouth tastes like metal and blood.
A woman leans over me. She is crying. She looks familiar. Too familiar. But I don't know her.
"My baby... my baby you're awake!"
My baby? I try to speak. "W-who..."
"Don't talk, baby. Don't talk. You've been in a coma for three weeks."
Coma? Three weeks? What happened to me?
I look at my hand. Her hand is holding mine. There's a ring on my finger. A wedding ring. I'm married? To who?
"Where... where am I?" I whisper.
"You're in the hospital, love. You had an accident. You don't remember?"
I shake my head. My head is pounding. I don't remember anything. My name? What is my name?
I look around the room. Then I see it. On the bedside table, there's a little mirror. And a note under it. A note written in my own handwriting.
I grab it with my shaking hand. The woman tries to stop me but I'm faster.
On the paper, in big, scary, shaky letters, I wrote:
*DON'T TRUST THEM. THEY ARE LYING ABOUT THE MISSING SIX MONTHS.*
My heart stops. My blood freezes.
I look up at the woman who says she's my mother. She's smiling, but her eyes... her eyes are scared.
Who wrote this note?
I wrote it.
Why did I write it? What happened in the missing six months that they don't want me to remember?
