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Had my past sins somehow causing this? Was that why this was happening?

That hardly seemed fair. The world shouldn’t suffer because of my past transgressions.

I wished that I was smarter, better able to fully comprehend what was happening and why. Taxes and business law classes were so helpful at this moment (said no one ever). Why hadn’t I been able to study the environment or pathogens?

Sighing, I turned towards the sliver of sunlight that illuminated the room through the cracked blinds. The day looked beautiful, not at all like a tornado had struck. The sun rose high in the sky, making the morning dew on the grass shine. There were a few people in the hospital courtyard that I could see, but nobody I recognized.

I tried not to be hurt by that. I really, really tried.

* * *

I spentthree days in the hospital. Three days of monotonous procedures consisting of needles jabbing into my skin and my body being checked over thoroughly. I probably stunk something awful by the time they released me, for the damn nurse didn’t allow me to shower. No, she insisted on something called a “sponge bath” - as if I was really going to let a complete stranger wipe me down.

The doctor gave me a wheelchair that my insurance paid for. I was supposed to remain in it for two weeks before I would be able to move to crutches. I hated the wheelchair with a passion. It made me feel weak, like an invalid. I understood the need, of course, what with the stitches on my arm and back prohibiting me from using crutches, but I still complained as I was wheeled outside.

My parents hadn’t even bothered to pick me up. No sir, they sent the limo driver to do that. The damn limo driver. It wasn’t as if I necessarily wanted to see my parents, but anything would’ve been better than the impassive man whose name was never given to me. Couldn’t I, at least for a moment, have people that loved me? Was that too much to ask for? I supposed the bitterness stemmed from the lack of love distributed to me by my parents. There was only so much a girl could deal with before she exploded. Or imploded, whichever one you prefer.

“Where are we going?” I asked the driver after I managed to maneuver myself into the leather seat.

“A hotel,” he answered stiffly. I waited for him to offer up more information, but he remained mute. He worked for my parents, so I wasn’t even surprised. The employees seemed to have a clause in their contracts that demanded them to be a bitch to me, no matter the situation.

Apparently, nearly dying didn’t change that mentality.

With nothing left to do, I fiddled with the lock on the door. Push in. Push out. Push in. Push out.

I pretended that I was heading home to a large, Victorian manor with sweeping pillars and a throng of trees surrounding it. I pretended that my family would be greeting me at the door, arms outstretched as they welcomed me. It was stupid, wistful thinking, but I couldn’t help the daydream that I was going somewhere where I was wanted and not just tolerated.

Through the tinted windows, I watched the scenery change from roiling landscapes to toppled buildings and crushed houses. Debris coated the road, wind carrying it from its initial resting place. It appeared to be such a desolate place. I could barely connect it to the town I once knew and hated. The further away we drove from the hospital, the more I noticed trees littering the ground and one grand buildings reverted to loose wood and plaster.

Horror filled me at the destruction.

We drove for what felt like hours before the car pulled into a modest, three-story hotel with manicured grass and freshly washed windows. This hotel must’ve missed the majority of the destruction wrought by the tornado.

“Thank you,” I said to the driver, opening the door. He, of course, ignored me.

It was difficult to seat myself back in the wheelchair. Mr. Driver Asshole refused to help me, so I settled for awkwardly jamming my elbow into the doorframe and then accidentally rolling the chair down a hill.

Fun times.

By the time I finally made it inside, a suitcase of my belongings planted firmly on my lap, I had managed to run into three walls and two doors. How the latter had happened, when I only needed to enter one door, was a true testament of my skills.

In my defense, I hadn’t known that the door wouldn’t open automatically. Seriously. What was the point of the blue handicap button if it didn’t work?

The manager of this hotel, employed under my father, handed me a room key. I didn’t bother asking where I would be staying; I just didn’t care anymore.

I didn’t care about anything.

Wheeling myself into the elevator, I ignored the angry looks I received from the guests as the chair took up their precious space in the small box. Those lazy fuckers could’ve walked up the staircase. They weren’t in a wheelchair.

The elevator pinged at the second floor, and I successfully maneuvered myself into the hallway. I heard one of my fellow elevator riders mutter something under his breath that sounded like “finally”, and I flipped him off.

The sparsely lit hallway had horrible, flowered wallpaper and burgundy carpeting. Just looking at it made me want to vomit.

My room, of course, was the furthest one down the hall. I struggled to wheel myself around the corner, and then struggled yet again to actual fit through the doorway. Were doors always this small?

By the time I made it inside the room, I was utterly exhausted. On the bright side, I didn’t need to work out ever again. Nope, this girl could eat all the chocolate she wanted to compensate for such a rigorous workout.

Yay me. Small victories.