Just more blue from the corners of my eyes and coldness as shreds of clothes were taken away.

“What the fuck is happening to me?” I shouted.

The brown returned, the blanket slowly spreading across me, something gentle now pressed against my face. “We have some of the most talented doctors in the world. I promise you’re going to get the best care.”

A sharpness stuck the crook of my arm.

“And when you wake up, we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.” The brown came closer, tightening around me. “We couldn’t find a cell phone anywhere in your clothes. Is there someone I can call? Wife? Girlfriend? Parent?”

I reached through the fogginess, grasping at the first thing that came to me. “Hunt Financial.” I swallowed, and more than just spit went down. “Betsy.”

“I’m going to call her right now,” she said, and the brown disappeared, the blanket lifting off me, leaving me shaking.

“Come ba—” I yelled before the blackness took over once again.

“Caleb, honey, we’re here,” I heard in a voice I knew well. “Please open your eyes.”

I wasn’t sure if my mother was repeating my name over and over, but it was echoing against the walls of my head, the sound like a vibration across a still lake. Each time, it softened a little more.

Until she added, “Honey, can you try and wake up for me?”

My throat was extremely sore, my mouth so dry that I could barely part it. My tongue slid through, the weight like cement as it ran across my lips. My eyelids slowly rose, the light blinding me at first. I blinked several times as my mother’s face came into view, concern registering across it.

“Oh, thank God.” Her head dipped for just a second before she said, “Miles, he’s awake,” far too loudly.

My father appeared at my other side. “How are you feeling?” he asked as he sat. “Are you in pain? I’ll call the nurse—”

“Miles, give him a moment to respond, please.”

My mother moved her chair closer, her hand surrounding mine; my skin was uncomfortable, as though it were asleep.

“I—” The dryness was worse now, the words sticky. “I hurt like hell.”

My mother’s other hand was on my face, each stroke feeling like she was picking a scab. “The surgeon said that would happen. He has you on a pain pump.”

Several bags hung on an IV pole near my father, and the machines behind me were making a noise that was now echoing in my mind.

“What surgery?” I coughed, and the pain strangled me. “Fuck!” I froze, waiting for the waves to calm, for the stabbing to stop suffocating me.

“Honey, try to breathe.”

“Those bombing fucking bastards. Look what they did to my son!”

“Miles, this is the last thing he needs right now. You have to calm down.”