The Day I Died

Kat Beeker was a 16 year old girl with social anxiety. She had two best friends: Aaron and her mom, Hazel. After her crappy father left the two, Kat and Hazel got closer every day. For the most part she was a normal teenage girl, until the day she died.


7. Mint Gum and Hospitals

     "Don't go, I can't do this on my own.

     Don't go, I can't do this on my own.

     Save me from the ones that haunt me in the night.

     I can't live with myself so stay with me tonight..."

The words to one of my favorite Bring Me The Horizon songs was blasting next to me when I awoke. From who or what, I didn't know.

The familiar scent of mint gum tickled my nose, mixed with various aromas of a hospital. Blinking hard, I eventually opened my eyes to a sight that nothing in the world could prepare me for.

Aaron was laying next to me in the hospital bed with his stomach pressed against my side; arm draped across my body, lightly gripping my hip and leg; and his face right next to mine. As the sound of his light snoring reached my ears, so did the sound of my heartbeat rapidly rising.

Shrieking out of embarrassment, I attempted to jump out of his warm embrace, only to find myself in immense pain. This seemed to have woken him from his slumber, even with his headphones blaring music in his ears.

     "KAT?! OH MY GOD, KAT! YOU'RE AWAKE! Wha- What's wrong? Are you okay?! Your face!" his hands grasped at my face, panic in his eyes. "It's completely red! NURS-!"

     "No - no, Aaron, I'm fine!" I attempted to reassure him, but as I saw it hadn't worked, I quickly added, "Really, I am!"

With a disbelieving look on his face, Aaron asked, "Then why is your face so red?"

     "Hu- huh? Never mind that! What are you doing in my bed?!" I practically shouted at him. Now it was his turn to blush.

He began to explain that I had been resting in a comatose state for a total of six days now - "Wow, six days?! Well, I always did like sleep a little too much..." - and my father had taken a total of 4 hours off of work after the accident, not even one of which he spent with me. As Aaron's frustration toward Shithead, which he and I liked to call my father, grew, I became increasingly more tired of the conversation. Honestly, I hated even giving that man a second thought.

     "Oi, Airhead. I need to know... How are you? Is everything okay? Have you been-" I began to gently ask, before blinding pain interrupted me.

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