The same relief washes over Jonan every time he wakes from sleep, convinced that everything's only been a bad dream.

But when the iron bars of his hospital bed crash against stretching arms, when there is an itch where limb is no longer there, when the cacophony of creaking beds and low murmurs crawl back into his ear, he knows that he's in a living nightmare.

The tenacious grief then returns, and Jonan pulls his blanket over his head, sleeping until his head spins, until he's not sure if he's hungry or sick.

Or until the nurse gently wakes him up to eat.

It has been five days since the accident, the fourth day of consciousness.

Jonan's right leg rests in a cast, sagging on the cloth it is propped on. His doctor says it will heal, eventually, but his other leg...

The television hums in the corner of the room, hanging high enough for all of Jonan's "roommates" to see, if any had the heart to do so. His father tells him he was all over the news when his accident happened, but now, a week later, the media slowly turns away, returning to political gossip and propaganda-like hero stories. Jonan is not one of those stories. It is currently on the weather forecast that predicts fluffy snow following sunny skies.

Outside, flowering trees blush beneath their new coats of snow, swaying with soft winds. Clouds drift across ocean skies and icicles glitter as water drip and hit the pavement. Outside is almost too bright, too idyllic, when Jonan's world was cracking, withering.

He still remembers that night.

The snow had begun to drift, and he turned on the heater, shivering. Mist clung onto the windshield on the inside, but when it began to clear, it was too late. The truck did not see his car, and it slowly edged into his lane until he was pushed off of it.

He had not lost consciousness when the car tumbled down the escarpment or when he was pressed against the airbag. He still remembers the wintery air that ran past the nape of his neck, the blood sliding down his cheeks, and the numbness in his legs. It was in the shivering night when he drifted off to sleep.

The nurse taps on Jonan's shoulder, tearing his eyes from the window.

"How are you feeling?" She asks, and Jonan can't tell if it's merely out of obligation.

Jonan tells the same lie he does to his family: "I'm feeling okay."

The nurse shakes her head but says, "this afternoon, your parents are going to visit, and you'll also have a checkup with the doctor. You're healing fast."

Jonan nods, turning his head back to the window, and the nurse soon leaves.

He tries to think of nothing because he knows when his mind wanders off, bits and pieces of the car crash always find their way back. With it comes a hurricane of denial, remorse, and self-loathing and pain, pain where it shouldn't be.

Sometimes, the pain is subtle, pulsing in his leg or perhaps an itch where flesh is gone. Sometimes, the pain is an electric shock that pokes at the remaining stub, laughing at him. Sometimes, he simply wonders if he's gone insane.

Everyone assures him that it's "part of the process", but it doesn't relieve him.