Never Give In (Black Veil Brides FanFiction)

After a fatal car crash, Calypso is left with nothing but a suitcase, a decomposition book, pictures and some old letters. She lost the ability to hear on her left ear, and now she has a trembling hand and an extreme anxiety to almost everything.
Being underage, she must be taken to live with the closest familiar. She had none, but the letters revealed otherwise.
Her brother is in a famous band, and his name is Andy Biersack.
They are nothing alike. She's quite, he's loud. He's chessy, she rolls her eyes. She likes Superman, he likes Batman. Only thing in common? Writing meaningful and beautiful things. They both love pouring their hearts out in letters. She does it in poems and he does in songs. What's the difference.
But her brother is not the only thing she will come across.
She will fall into a world she had never experience. And she will learn one thing.
Never. Give. In.
Short chapters.

4Likes
6Comments
830Views
AA

2. O N E

O N E

Sorry Does Not Bring The Dead Back

Calypso

The first thing I saw was white. A blinding white. I had to blink a few times before my eyes adjusted completely. My head was throbbing and I was dizzy.

I groaned taking my hand to the left side of my head. I had barely touched it and felt the bandages when I was taking my hand away. It hurted so much, even a faint touch hurted.

I heard a faint and constant beep. I turned my head to the left and saw a heart monitor. That was when I panicked.

I propped myself with my elbows and then properly sat up. I groaned by the effort. It was so tiring. But even if my moves were slow my heartbeat wasn't. I could hear the quick beeping coming from the monitor. It was so loud in one side and in the other, nothing.

''Help!'' I cried out. My voice was so low even though I was trying to scream.

Then, thanks to God, a nurse rushed inside my room. ''Calm down,'' she said.

''Where am I? What happened?'' I asked panicked.

''You are in the hospital. You were in a car accident.''

''Where are my parents?''

''We need to check you first,'' she said pushing me down.

''Where are they?''

''You need to calm down. Let the doctor check on you. Then we will tell you everything.''

''Tell me what?'' I cried.

''Later, girl.''

I sighed loudly as I started crying silently. I had an idea of what might be happening but I wanted to deny it as long as possible.

 

The nurse walked out and came in later with a doctor. He had grey hair and green eyes. Tired eyes caused by the countless nights in the hospital. But he was in good shape. But trust me, I was not into older guys.

As he started checking my signs, my head and other parts of my body, out of nowhere my right hand started trembling. Trembling was a short word. Major shaking in my right hand. That was the perfect way to describe it. Major shaking.

After he was done, he headed to my now trembling hand. He made me make some moves, and then wrote something in the clipboard.

''Well, Miss Emmerson. You are doing great. You might be going out tonight which is great. You woke up better than we expected. You were out for three days, but you are okay now,'' he assured me. ''Now here come the bad news.'' Oh God. ''Unfortunately you have lost the capacity to hear in your left ear.''

''And what about my hand?'' I asked worried. That was my right hand. The one I played guitar with.

''That is cause by anxiety. Maybe a traume of the crash you haven't registered yet. If you get over the crash, you trembling hand will go. That's why I suggest you to go see a psychologist, to get over it.''

''Okay,'' I whispered, grabbing my hand. ''What about my parents? The nurse told me that after the checking they were going to tell me. Tell me what?''

''I'm sorry, Miss Emmerson...''

I didn't need to hear anything more. So I blocked him, and fell into a black abyss.

 

I don't know how long it took me to come back to reality. Even after so many years, and many visits to the same doctor who saved my life and gave the news to me, even himself doesn't know how long he stood there. And how long I was laying there, crying. None of us, but I do know one thing as I narrate this story. It definitely felt like decades.

Other thing I know is that the one who pulled me out of that black abyss was the same doctor who blocked my way to the very known white and blinding tunnel. And the one who later would fill my life with advice.

''Miss Emmerson,'' he whispered into my ear. He was leaning over me. ''Miss Emmerson.'' I ignored him again. ''Calypso'' That wasn't going to work. ''Caly'' He got me.

I got my hands away from my face and stopped sobbing, even though the tears were still, streaming silently down my cheek.

I looked at him. Into his green and full of pity eyes. And I was mad at him. I didn't need pity. I needed my parents. But I didn't say anything.

''I'm so sorry, Miss-''

''Sorry doesn't bring the dead back. Sorry doesn't bring my parents back!'' I shouted throwing a pillow at him. I didn't have the best aim, so I didn't hit him. And the pillow was big. By that fact, you could know my aim was very lame.

He took a step back and half-opened the door. ''I will go do your paperwork and I will sent the nurse back with some cloths.''

He walked out and closed the door behind him.

 

The nurse didn't took long. After a couple of minutes she came in with the cloths the doctor promised to me.

First she took out of the tubes that were connected to my body. She changed me bandages and forced me to take a sponge bath.

Even though, I felt incredibly uncomfortable with her cleaning my body with sponges I didn't have other option since it was a lot of effort to clean my whole body in my condition. A very weak and painful condition. 

After that she left me alone in the bathroom to get change. The cloths she left me consisted on a tight shirt and loosey jeans. Definitely not my style. Absolutely. The shirt was to tight showing my top attributes and the pants were falling down my hips.

I sighed, walked out and sat on the ed to wait for the nurse to come back. Again.

I started swinging my legs just to distract me from the way. Truth was that pain generated by me moving my legs was just for my mind to get distracted from the fact that my parents were dead. It was working. But now that I think, I exactly knew what I was doing and why, I was thinking that it was working which lead me to think of my parents bed, the thing was that I was denying it.

When the nurse was finally back with no wheel chair for my bad luck I asked why. She told me the reason my legs hurted at walking was because of the lack of use and the bruises caused by the accident.

Just as I walked out of the room I shiver and the doctor comes to me.

''Any problem, Miss Emmerson?''

''I'm cold,'' I whispered.

He takes of his white coats and then his aqua knitted sweater. He handed it to me. I took it shyly, which was a strange thing. I was never shy. I was a very extroverted person. And out of nowhere I was being shy. What was happening to me?

But let me explain one thing before we continue. No. Better said let me give a term for this unexpected shyness, fear and disconnection.

 

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) can develop following a traumatic event that threatens your safety or makes you feel helpless.

Most people associate PTSD with battle-scarred soldiers-and military combat is the most common cause in men-but any seemingly life-threatening event-or series of events-that overwhelms you with feelings of hopelessness and helplessness can trigger PTSD, especially if the event feels unpredictable and uncontrollable.

PTSD can affect those who personally experience the catastrophe, those who witness it, and those who pick up the pieces afterwards, including emergency workers and law enforcement officers. It can even occur in the friends or family members of those who went through the actual trauma.

In this case, it was affecting me. 

 

Back to the hospital and the past.

There I was, the sweater hanging from my hand, until I finally decided to put it on. I was warm and big. Just how I liked tops.

I thanked him in a low voice and he instructed me to go to a room where I was going to be meet the social worker.

The social worker a soon pretender, fake friend and home-wrecker.

Brutus. Ironic. Isn't it.

Well, I'm spoiling the story. Let's continue. 

 

 

 

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...