Two weeks?
Author: Henry storm
last update2025-06-01 02:26:27

A steady beeping filled the air, sharp and rhythmic, pulling Henry Gray back to consciousness. The sharp smell of antiseptic stung his nose, and his body felt heavy, like he’d been run over by a freight hauler. His eyelids fluttered, struggling to open. When they finally did, the world was a blur of white walls and a dim overhead light. A machine sat beside his bed, its screen flashing numbers and lines that meant nothing to him.

He was in a hospital.

Henry tried to sit up, but his body protested with a jolt of pain. His arms trembled, his fingers barely able to curl. Even breathing felt like a chore, his throat dry as dust.

What happened?

His mind scrambled to piece it together. He’d been crossing the street, exhausted, his thoughts on Lily and Tom. Then—lights. A truck. A deafening crash. After that, nothing.

Was he… alive?

“You’re awake?” a voice broke through his haze.

Henry turned his head, wincing at the effort. A nurse stood by his bed, her white uniform crisp but her expression cautious, like she wasn’t sure he’d stay conscious. Her name tag read “Clara.”

“Where am I?” His voice came out rough, barely a whisper.

“St. Veridia Medical Center,” Clara said, stepping closer to check the machine. “You’ve been out for two weeks.”

Henry’s heart stopped. Two weeks?

His pulse thudded in his ears. That couldn’t be right. Two weeks lost, just gone? His thoughts raced to his siblings. Lily and Tom—how had they managed without him?

“You took a bad hit,” Clara went on, her tone calm but serious. “Honestly, it’s a miracle you’re still here. The doctors didn’t know if you’d pull through.”

Henry swallowed, his throat burning. “My family… Lily and Tom. Are they okay?”

“They’ve been here almost every day,” she said, her face softening. “Your sister especially. She practically lived in the waiting room.”

Guilt twisted in Henry’s chest, sharper than the pain in his ribs. Lily, only sixteen, had been holding things together while he was out cold. And Tom, just a kid, must’ve been scared out of his mind.

“And my mom?” he asked, already dreading the answer.

Clara hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. That was enough.

She hadn’t come. Not once.

Henry’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay calm. He’d known she wouldn’t show. Their mother had checked out years ago, lost in her own haze of grief and apathy. Still, the confirmation stung like a fresh cut.

“Your siblings should be here soon,” Clara said, clearly trying to move past the awkward moment. “They usually come by around now.”

Henry nodded faintly, his mind spinning. Two weeks. How had Lily and Tom survived? They were already scraping by, and now—hospital bills, rent, food. The thought made his stomach churn.

And then there was something else. A strange feeling, like a hum under his skin, faint but persistent. Something wasn’t right.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, quick and uneven.

“Henry!”

Lily burst into the room, nearly tripping over a chair in her rush. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, her school uniform wrinkled and tired. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, but they lit up with relief when she saw him.

Tom trailed behind, quieter than usual. His usual bounce was gone, replaced by a tension that made him look older than fourteen. He clutched the hem of his jacket, his knuckles white.

“You’re awake!” Lily grabbed Henry’s hand, squeezing it like she was afraid he’d vanish. “God, you have no idea how scared we were.”

Henry tried to smile, but his face felt stiff, his muscles aching. “You were scared? I just woke up in a hospital with no clue what’s going on.”

Lily let out a shaky laugh, her eyes glistening. “Idiot,” she muttered, gripping his hand tighter.

Tom hovered by the bed, shifting his weight. “We thought you were gone,” he said, his voice small. “Two weeks, Henry. Two weeks.”

“I know,” Henry said softly. He wanted to sit up, to hug them, but even moving his head was exhausting. “Nurse just told me.”

“You scared the hell out of us,” Lily said, her voice sharp but trembling. “The doctors said they didn’t know if you’d ever wake up.”

Henry looked at her, taking in the exhaustion etched into her face. “You stayed here, didn’t you?”

Lily looked away, crossing her arms. “Someone had to.”

“She barely went home,” Tom piped up. “Slept in the waiting room half the time.”

“Shut up, Tom,” Lily snapped, shooting him a glare.

Henry’s chest tightened. He was supposed to be the one taking care of them, not the other way around. “How’d you manage?” he asked, his voice quiet.

Lily hesitated, rubbing her temples. “We got by,” she said vaguely.

“Lily,” Henry pressed.

She sighed. “I picked up extra shifts at the diner. Tom helped out where he could. We’re behind on rent, and food’s been tight. And the hospital bills…” Her voice faltered, and she clenched her fists.

Tom sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. “It was rough,” he mumbled. “Not knowing if you’d wake up… it sucked.”

Henry’s fingers dug into the thin hospital blanket. This was his fault. If he hadn’t been so careless, so tired, he wouldn’t have stepped in front of that truck. He wouldn’t have left them to fend for themselves.

Lily smacked his arm lightly, making him flinch. “Don’t you dare start blaming yourself,” she said, reading his expression. “You almost died. That’s not on you.”

Henry swallowed hard. “I should’ve—”

“No,” she cut him off, her voice firm. “You’re awake. That’s what matters.”

Tom nodded, forcing a small grin. “Yeah. You’re back. That’s the important part.”

Henry let out a slow breath. They were right. He couldn’t change the past. “Okay,” he said. “I’m here.”

The room fell quiet, the weight of the last two weeks hanging between them. Lily and Tom were safe, at least. That was something.

But then Tom spoke up. “What about Mom?”

Lily’s face darkened. “Don’t.”

Tom shifted, uncomfortable. “Maybe she—”

“She didn’t come, Tom,” Lily snapped, her voice sharp and brittle. “Not once.”

Tom bit his lip, looking down. “Yeah. I know.”

Henry exhaled through his nose. He wasn’t surprised, but it still hurt. Their mother had been a ghost in their lives for years, but to not even visit? That was a new low.

He pushed the thought aside. There were bigger problems. “How long do I have to stay here?” he asked.

Lily frowned. “The doctors want to keep you a bit longer. But the bills…”

Henry nodded grimly. Money. Always money. “I’ll get out soon,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”

“You just woke up,” Lily argued. “You’re not exactly ready to run a marathon.”

“Still,” Henry said, his voice firm. “I’m not staying here longer than I need to.”

Lily didn’t look happy, but she let it go.

Tom grinned, the first real smile Henry had seen from him. “At least you still sound like you. I was worried you’d wake up all sappy or something.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Sappy?”

“You know,” Tom said, shrugging. “Like, crying and being all dramatic.”

Lily snorted. “Please. Henry’s always dramatic.”

“Great,” Henry muttered, rolling his eyes. “Two weeks in a coma, and I wake up to this.”

Lily smirked. “Admit it. You missed us.”

Henry sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe a little.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, the room felt lighter.

That night, alone in the dim hospital room, Henry stared at the ceiling. The beeping machines were his only company, their rhythm steady but unsettling.

Something was wrong.

Why had he survived that crash? A truck like that should’ve killed him. And that strange feeling—the hum in his chest, the flicker in his mind—it hadn’t gone away.

What was happening to him?

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