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The Awakening
“We’re seeing consistent improvements in his neurological responses,” said the ICU lead. “No signs of lasting brain damage. His vitals are stable enough that we’re cutting back on sedation to see how he tolerates waking up.”
“And the trach? He’s still on the ventilator.”
Lucy kept her eyes on Matt. His face was pale, but no longer ghostlike. The gash above his brow had healed, leaving a thin, sharp scar.
“His lungs still need the support, but we’ve seen progress. He’s initiating some breaths on his own, which is a positive sign. There’s still residual fatigue from the pneumonia, but his body is gradually compensating.”
“How long will it take for him to fully wake up?”
“It varies,” they admitted. “The sedation will wear off gradually. He may be groggy and disoriented at first. It’s important to remember that he’s been through significant trauma. Physically, he’s stable, but waking up will likely be confusing—and overwhelming.”
She took that in with a nod. None of this had been simple. It hadn’t been for six weeks. But the idea of hearing his voice again—even hoarse, even frayed—was enough to carry her through.
“Matt, they’re waking you up, okay?” She smoothed his hair back with her hand. “You don’t have to get everything right now. Just stay with me. I’ll handle the rest.”
Something was wrong.
No—everything was wrong.
His mind fought to rise. Pieces forming, then lost. His chest burned. His throat—god, his throat—felt scraped raw, stretched around something lodged deep. Light cut behind his eyelids like a blade.
What’s happening? The question looped, colliding with the static in his head. He tried to lift—arm, leg, didn’t matter—but nothing responded.
Then the sounds. Beeping. Hissing. Voices. One of them clearer than the rest.
“Matt? Can you hear me?”
Who’s Matt? No—that was him. That was his name. But it rang strange, a word he hadn’t heard in a long time.
He forced his eyes open. Shapes flooded in—blurred, glaring. Too much. White walls. Monitors. A face.
It moved closer. Familiar, but skewed in his head. A voice chasing recognition.
“Matt,” it said again. He latched onto it like a rope. “It’s me. You’re okay.”
What happened? Why can’t I breathe—why can’t I–?
“Matt, it’s Lucy.” Nearer now. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Just breathe.”
Lucy. That cracked something open. Lucy. He wanted to ask, needed to—but his chest seized. The hissing grew louder. His head spun.
“Matt, listen to me,” she said. “You’re on a ventilator. That’s what you’re feeling. You’re okay. Just let it help you breathe.”
Pain shot through his wrist. It pulled his gaze down—
Where are my legs? Why can’t I feel anything?
No sheets. No bed. Nothing.
The rush in his ears swelled, drowning everything. Vision faltered. Air dragged in short bursts.
“Matt, stay with me. Please.”
He couldn’t.
Matt stirred.
“Hey,” she said gently. “You’re awake.”
“…Lucy?” His voice rasped against the speaking valve. “Where… am I?”
She straightened, already bracing. “You’re in the hospital. You’ve been here a few weeks. Do you remember anything?”
“No…” He looked around, dazed. “What happened?”
Lucy reached for his hand. “There was an accident. You were at a rescue. There was a collapse, and you fell.”
“Fell?” His breath caught. “Why can’t I… feel my legs?”
“Your spine was injured in the fall,” she said, holding on. “There’s swelling, and the doctors are monitoring it. You’ve had surgery to stabilize it, but right now… you can’t feel your legs.”
“I can’t…” He met her eyes. “Will it come back?”
She didn’t pause. “We don’t know yet. It’s too early to tell. But the doctors are doing everything they can.”
“Why don’t I… remember?”
“It’s the concussion. Your brain’s still recovering. That’s why things feel… foggy right now.”
Matt closed his eyes—then opened them again.
“What’s wrong… with my legs?”
“Matt, I—” She stopped herself and adjusted. “Your spine was injured, remember? You had surgery. There’s still inflammation.”
“Why can’t… feel…”
His body went slack, and Lucy sprang up, panic spiking—until the monitors calmed her. He wasn’t crashing. Just asleep.
She sank into the chair, lightheaded for a second.
How many more times would she have to do this? Watch him wake, forget, and fall apart all over again?
It was easier when he didn’t have to face him.
Now Matt was awake, and there was nowhere left to hide.
He slid the door open. Matt turned slowly at the sound. His eyes, dulled by exhaustion, found Ben—and something in him twisted.
“Hey,” he said, aiming for normal. “Look who’s back.”
“Ben?”
The weakness he expected. The hurt he didn’t.
“Yeah. I’m here.”
Matt let his eyes fold shut. “What… happened?”
“You… there was an accident. At the site.”
“Accident.” His brow creased. “I… can’t feel my legs.”
He swallowed. “The doctors are doing everything they can. They’re still figuring things out.”
“Figuring… out. It’s… gone.”
The ventilator filled the gap until Ben pushed something out. “You’re… you’re doing better. They said you’ve already made progress.”
A whisper followed, barely there. “Ben… I can’t…”
Gone again. Ben sat there, staring, telling himself he could handle it—
He stood all at once and walked out.
Matt’s face haunted him—helpless. Like Ben had failed him.
And it wasn’t only that. Feelings he’d buried, denied, rewritten—he couldn’t name them, wouldn’t. But they rose anyway.
It felt like betrayal—to Matt, to Lucy. To the person he’d spent years convincing himself he was.
He collapsed against the wall, head in his hands.
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