“Go for it,” I say, resting my hands on my chest.
She pulls a small torch from her lab coat and lifts my eyelids, flashing a blinding white light a couple of times. “Is there any pain?”
“Only a dull headache.”
“That’s to be expected.” She pockets the torture device and lifts the bandage on the right side of my head to check the wound. I wince as she prods at it. “This is healing quite well.”
“Great. So, I’ll be back on the pitch in no time?”
I don’t miss the way everyone in the room exchanges a worried look.
“What?” I ask warily.
“Can you tell me what month it is?” Doctor Monroe asks.
“July,” I say, glancing at Noah who still won’t look at me.
“Hmm.” Doctor Monroe nods and writes something on my chart. “And the day?”
I sigh. “Sunday.”
She frowns. Mum sniffs, and my eyes dart to her.
“What?”
Nobody says anything. My chest tightens, and my stomach knots into painful cramps.
“Somebody start talking,” I grit out.
“Zac,” Doctor Monroe says in that infuriatingly practised calm doctors have. “The head injury you sustained was quite serious. You required twenty stitches, and there was some swelling around your brain.”
My stomach leaps into my throat, and I reach for Noah. He grips my hand tight.
“To protect your brain and give you time to recover, we had to sedate you.”
“What are you saying?”
“It’s the fourth of August, Zac.”
My jaw goes slack and my stomach churns like I’m on a rollercoaster that I need to get the fuck off.
August.
“August?” I croak out.
“August,” Dr Monroe repeats.
How the fuck is it August?
I lost twelve days of my fucking life. How can she be so calm?
“I’m tired,” I snap, closing my eyes.
“Zac, honey…” Mum’s voice is pained, but I need time to process.
“Press the call button if you need anything, or if the pain gets worse. Someone will be in to check on you in an hour.”
I grunt in response.
