Order 73 ~DNF~

𝟙𝟝

𝒢𝑒𝑜𝓇𝑔𝑒 𝒫𝒪𝒱

Daylight assaults my eyes and I squeeze them shut again, not believing for even a moment that I woke up before my alarm clock. But these aren't my comfortable sheets and plush blanket. Peter, the stuffed parrot that Wilbur had named and gifted me for my birthday last year, was missing as well. Everything in this room was pristine white and smelled of nasty disinfectant.

I loll my head over the deflated pillow to look to my right. Instead of my alarm clock, Wilbur and Quackity were strewn across each other on a worn leather sofa. Wilbur, being too tall for anything normal sized, was sleeping sitting up. Quackity, on the other hand, decided that the pillow on the side of the sofa wasn't good enough for him. Instead, he claimed Wilbur's shoulder as his pillow, mouth open and probably drooling on the taller's pajamas.

Shaking my head slightly, I glance to my left, the familiar sound of clicking keys filling the quiet room finally registering. The person behind the laptop is Dream, to my surprise. Dream is in my....wait where is this? Considering the white everything, probably a hospital.

I'm distracted from my train of thought when he breathes deeply in disappointment, his eyes almost covered by the hair that falls in waves across his forehead as he looks down at the screen. He moves, curling his socked feet into the crease of the chair, resting his back against the armrest.

I almost laugh aloud. At my angle, I can just barely see that he's got on another nerdy computer science shirt. This time it said Choose your weapon: showing different programming languages as weapons. I half expected him to be wearing black shorts with neon green binary running across them but he had on plain grey sweatpants, the aglets hidden by the device resting on his stomach.

I want to question why I'm in a hospital room. Why Dream is here next to me, wearing the world's stupidest shirt. Why Wilbur and Quackity are asleep on a tiny sofa. But I'm so tired. I'm here aren't I? Might as well get some sleep.

I force my eyes open a second time, startled when I realize someone is right above my head, touching my forehead. 

"Oh, you're awake." She says. I reach up to where her hands were, feeling the soft material of a bandage. "At this point, we thought you'd never wake up."

"How–how long have I been here?" I ask, my voice scratchy from not being used.

"Well, you came really early Saturday morning. So almost two days. It's late Sunday by the way." She checks her watch. "Half past four to be exact."

"I slept for two days?" I squawk, propping myself up with my elbows in shock.

"You had stage four sleep deprivation. Do you know how serious that is?" Suddenly I feel like I'm being scolded by my Mum. It's funny because this nurse can't be much older than me. "You're lucky you weren't out longer actually. You also got lucky with the side effects this time."

"Wait, but I barely missed like three days of sleep. That's not that bad." I defend. She shakes her head.

"That was just the icing on the cake. How long has it been since you've gotten seven full hours?" She asks. I choose to stay silent. "Exactly. It builds up. "

She goes back to what she was doing before, peeling off my bloody bandage, and checking what felt like stitches. "By the way, your three friends stayed here all of yesterday. Blondie told them off today morning, apparently knock off Harry Potter and beanie dude had a concert that they were going to ditch to stay with you."

"I'm your on-call nurse by the way. They talk a lot." She explains as I try to comprehend what she's been saying. "Anyway, so they went to their concert. Blondie went home to take a shower, he told me he'd be back."