he might have laughed, if the situation was a different one — was anywhere close to normal; the way in which this person had reacted was nothing short of COMICAL, whoever he might be. there was little energy to be spent on humor, however, and let alone when speaking such simple words just now had already been quite the struggle. his voice felt trapped at the back of his throat, and even as he forced it out it’d sounded slurred and strained, almost like he was drunk… which he might well be for all he knew, yet his mind was growing more and more attentive by the second.
this room was a hospital one, wasn’t it? what else could it have been, when everything was white and the air was rich with the smell of disinfectant and his body was confined to a bed and many a tube were attached to it? he knew what a hospital was, evidently, even if, at the moment, it was impossible to tell if he’d ever been in one before; a hospital is a place for the injured and the ill, which meant he was either injured, or ill, or both. not the best of prospects to wake up to, granted, but, somehow, he did not feel threatened by it — at least, not just yet. it felt a bit like that stage of reaching over to silence the alarm clock, split between rolling over to keep snoozing or, instead, to get out of bed and be started with a day of work or school or whatever it might be. fact was, the young man wasn’t completely there just yet, even if his body and brain were more functional than they had been in long weeks — far more than simply lying almost lifeless in that bed, as though a vegetable; far more than allowing all that expensive medical machinery to monitor and control his vital functions for him. after such long slumber, it was no wonder if THE SLEEPING BEAUTY would require a few good minutes to fully transition from fairy tale back to reality.
before questioning further, then, he spared a moment to let his gaze roam around the room. there was a nightstand very close to the right side of his head, with a few objects: a pocket book, a bottle of water, a small white tray containing more objects he could not identify from the current angle, a small mirror that looked like those that girls usually carried in their purse for make-up emergencies… he knew what all of those were, could name them all if asked, knew what they were supposed to be used for. nothing out of the ordinary. he could notice the weather outside, as well, through the curtains — sunny enough, though he wouldn’t be surprised if it turned to soft rain sooner than later. all of it made sense, all of it was almost like any other awakening in any other place. only the circumstances were not ordinary, and hence focusing attention back on his companion now — dark grey eyes glistening with CURIOSITY, as he tried his best to articulate more words.
‘ where— where am i…? what happened…? ‘
𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑬𝑴𝑬𝑫 𝑨 𝑩𝑰𝑻 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑭𝑼𝑺𝑬𝑫, Sam gathered, briefly studying the way that the young man’s dark eyes scattered around the room, in what only seemed to him like a state of mild panic. If he had to hazard a guess, Sam would probably say that he was either trying to figure out who the hell Sam was, and why he was sitting by his bedside or he was actually confused as to what he was doing in a hospital bed altogether in the first place. The latter was actually more common than you would think among comatose patients, he learned. Reading books on top of books about comas, while he sat by the unresponsive patient for months seemed to expand Sam’s knowledge far more than it was already. ( which was saying an awful lot ) A fuzzy memory, he concluded, but one that would eventually resolve itself and begin to clear up quickly, just like he had taken a bit of a nap.
But no, that didn’t seem right. His own doubts quickly began to fortify, recklessly running rampant in the depths of his mind as the two of them sat there in ominous silence for quite some time. Everything was supposed to come crashing back, just like he had read about; he should’ve been in a rage, demanding to know why this strange, fat boy was sitting right beside his bed and watching him sleep. Why isn’t he angry? Sam couldn’t help but think, always anticipating to be the recipient of some kind of anger. In place of anger, instead, came more confusion --- questioning, perhaps to resolve that very thing.
“You’re, erm, in the… You’re-- you’re in the hospital.” He answered meekly, in a voice that sounded as if he was actually the patient in this scenario.
He still doesn’t remember. Why doesn’t he remember yet? The words of doubt replaying consistently in his mind. And it wasn’t his ignorance that led him to doubt the other man’s ability to remember, more so the fact that Sam Tarly was in pure denial; denial of the fact that a horrible situation has taken a turn for the worst. His nerves caused him to spring from his chair, and on to his feet, taking a few steps backward, as if to distance himself from this entire predicament. In doing so, he almost managed to knock over one of the monitors in which the patient had been hooked to through an IV, but fortunately, was able to catch it in spite of his clumsy hands
“I—I think I should probably, um, call… I think I should call a doctor.” He turned around then, desperately beginning to fumble through a few things on the nightstand.
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