Charlie P.O.V

When I open my eyes, all I can see is blindingly bright light. It forces me to close my eyes again. I can vaguely hear a beeping sound and I feel like there are stickers all over my abdomen and arms. Everything feels strange.

When I finally manage to open my eyes, I see that I am in a hospital gown. The stickers are wires that monitor my vital signs. The beeping is my heart rate monitor. I'm obviously in the hospital.

I slowly manage to sit up. My side still has a dull pain, but not as bad as before. I do, however, feel like something has changed. I'm just not sure what.

I pull at the neck of my hospital gown to look at my body. I see the various small pads stuck to my body and a stitched up incision on my side, right before the waistband of my boxers.

"What the fuck?" I ask myself softly.

The area around the stitches is red and irritated looking, but I suppose that is how an incision would look. I never had surgery before this and right now I don't even know why I had any surgery, to begin with.

I lift the gown over my thigh and sigh. The doctors clearly took it upon themselves to clean out and stitch up my leg. At least it won't get infected if it wasn't already.

A doctor enters my room suddenly. "Oh, good, you're awake," she says while writing something down on her clipboard.

"Yes, but how did I get here and why has my side been cut open?" I ask quickly before she can attempt to make any other conversation.

"Your friend Michael brought you in because you lost consciousness at your house. We removed your appendix because it had burst due to the spreading infection in your leg which we also took care of," she explains.

"Where is Michael?"

If Michael brought me here then surely he should still be here. I should thank him for getting me here so quickly. I don't know how Michael knew that I lost consciousness if he wasn't with me. Perhaps he came to check on me and discovered me unconscious. That's most likely what happened.

The doctor looks around for a few moments. "He was here the last time I saw him. I'm not sure where he could've gone. Perhaps he went off to get a snack."

I nod slowly, trying to remain optimistic about the situation. I would feel better if Michael was here with me right now, but he isn't. Michael probably is getting a snack, but I have my doubts.

The doctor exits the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The room is very bland and lacks almost any color. The walls and ceiling are white and the floor is a soft grey color. It's quite easy to get bored in this room.

I wait for about ten minutes before ultimately realizing that Michael isn't coming back. He's most likely gone home to let me rest. While I want to believe this, some part of me is unsure if this scenario is accurate.

Slowly, I lay back in bed and sigh. The hospital is keeping me on some strong painkillers because of my recent surgery. I can hardly feel the incision where I was cut open. Unfortunately, I know that I will feel it once the pain meds wear off.

Because I lost consciousness, I don't have my phone. I have no way of contacting Michael at the moment. If I did I would simply text him and ask where he has gone after taking me to the hospital. I want to thank him for doing so. If he hadn't I'd probably be dead.

After a while, a nurse comes into the room with a clipboard. "Michael couldn't properly fill out your paperwork. You can just fill it out when you're feeling up to it," he says while setting the clipboard and a pen on the table next to the bed.

The nurse leaves the room and closes the door. I pick up the clipboard and the pen. It makes sense that Michael wouldn't be able to answer these questions. This is all stuff about insurance, family medical history, etcetera. He wouldn't know any of this information. Michael would only know why he brought me here.

I fill out the questions and set the clipboard back on the table. Out of boredom, I begin to scratch at my wristband. It's one the hospital provided, only it's a bit too tight. It's rubbing my skin in an uncomfortable way. I can't find a way to loosen it. I would take it off, but I can't manage to rip it and I have nothing to cut it with. Not to mention the fact that you're not supposed to take it off until you leave the hospital. It's a form of identification.

I sigh to myself and forget about the wristband. I'll have to deal with the uncomfortable rubbing at least until I get home. Hopefully, that won't be too much longer. I would like to return home to check on my wolf. He's probably worried about me since I'm not home. I think I remember him being there when I lost consciousness.

I lean my head back and let out a deep sigh. I've grown very tired and decide that it's probably best to get some rest. I close my eyes to block out the bright light and allow my mind to drift.

Eventually, I manage to drift into the sleeping state of being. Everything fades away and I am finally able to rest. Unfortunately, there is a small nagging thought in the back of my mind about Michael. I hope he comes back by the time I wake up. I would like to see him again before I go home because I most likely won't be going anywhere anytime soon. I hope to see Michael again soon.