I remember that night as a blur. A fateful one, but a blur nonetheless. We were in the car going…somewhere. A drunken man slammed his Benz into our family car. We tipped over. The last vivid image of that night was me laying in a pool of my own blood.

I woke up from that living nightmare in a hospital bed wearing a paper-thin gown. Fluorescent lights dizzy my weary brain.

A nurse came into the room, telling me to lie back down as she checked my vitals. Every doctor and nurse treated me so carefully, like I was breakable. They told me that I had whiplash, spinal fractures, and a broken collarbone. They also said it was incredible that I survived.

“Momma? Daddy?” I say in a hoarse voice. I’m a bit too old to talk like that but I feel vulnerable and want the familiar feeling of cuddling with a loving parent.

Everytime I ask about my parents, the nurses change the subject. This unnerves me.

Early in the morning of what I think is my 5th day here, a man comes into my room. I watch, but say nothing as my nurse brings my bed up to a sitting level. The man sits in a chaise a few feet from my bed.

“Silva Livian, is it?” The man says with a hint of an Scottish accent.

It took me a bit after the accident to remember my name, but I nod my head in silent affirmation.

“Right. Well it’s with great sorrow that I inform you that both Mrs and Mr Livian perished in the accident.”

I crumble at his words, first angry, then mad. Why me? Why did this have to happen to me? Red hot fury bubbles up inside of me as warm tears spill down my face. I rip my IV out of my arm and run towards the man, angry at the world, but he will do.

Before I can reach him in my raving state, the nurse stabs my arm with a syringe. I watch as the floor gets closer, then I go black.

One thing I know is that I will never be the same again.