Lonely Recovery [Vincent Whittman]

The room was deathly quiet, save for the sounds of rhythmic beeping coming from the vital monitors around him. Heart rate, oxygen, blood pressure. Something else occasionally beeped in between. Every four minutes, he counted. Not that there was much else to do, being completely bedridden and confined to this freezing cold, lonely hospital suite. The air was dry and filled with the scent of astringent medicine and bleach. That sickly hospital smell that made his stomach turn. It just made him think of death, decay and weakness.

Vincent lay in a standard hospital bed. Or at least he assumed as much, because thanks to his injuries he couldn't see right now. His eyes were covered with medicated patches; His entire head was wrapped in bandages except for his mouth and nose. He had oxygen tubes in his nostrils, and gauze wrapped around other parts of his body too; mostly focused on his torso and legs, where the electric current from the accident was the most concentrated and left distinct lightning shaped scars.

He was in agony the first few days after being resuscitated and admitted to the hospital. Every waking moment he was thrashing and calling for nurses and begging for painkillers. He never in his life experienced so much pain. And Vincent thought he would be treated with adoring, doting around the clock care. After all, he was the Vincent Whittman! The face of their evening news and nightly entertainment segments! He should be in the finest hospital, with the best staff, the best food!

...but turns out it doesnt matter how much of a big shot celebrity you are. This hospital was the only one in the tri-state area that specialized in burns like his. The nurses do their rounds and give you the same exact treatment as everyone else. He was lucky he even secured himself a private room instead of having to- ugh- share with someone. Imagine! Him, having to share with some lowlife drug addict or- or some crying kid with measles!

It had been three weeks since that night. It had been Vincent's most successful rally yet; the most amount of people, the best stage setup, the energy was incredible that night as he preached about taking over all of the other networks and being the voice of the nation- maybe even the entire world. Everything had been going great.

And then that fucking live wire television broke from its ceiling harness and smashed right onto his head. He was told the bottom of the television gave out and completely went over his entire skull - and he's lucky it did or else his entire head would've been crushed by the weight and force. Glass shards from the CRT tore up his beautiful face. Went into his fucking eyes. And if that wasn't painful enough, he had been standing in water, from the dilapidated aquariums in his beautiful sanctuary, and he may as well have gotten struck by a lightning bolt. He was riddled with electrical burns on his legs and feet.

He had been dead for almost ten minutes, they said. It was a miracle he was alive. They almost didn't try to revive him. They almost just let him stay dead. Every time his mind went back to that realization, he clenched his teeth and clawed at the prickly, too-crisp sheets on his bed. Sure, he was apparently being sent flowers and letters from fans, but nobody visited him. The nurses even barely batted an eye at him, despite how famous he was. Why didn't anybody care?! The great Vincent Whittman almost died!!

And yet he was here. Alone. Except for his lawyers who managed to keep him out of prison at least from negligence charges, because his followers there that night got electrocuted too. They survived with injuries, at least. Far less paperwork and less of a headache than if they had died.

And he still had at least another month of just laying here. Hooked to the IV drips, being hand fed by overworked hospital staff that had dozens of other mouths to feed. He stopped asking them to turn the television in the room on, too. They always just put it on whatever and made him listen to garbage all day. The silence and grating beeping was far better than listening to the voice of the head anchor of his rival news channel. Ugh.

Another day of misery starts yet again.