I had only been unconscious for a few hours, long enough for the doctors to stitch the deep gash on my forehead closed.

Sam briefly explained the details of my wounds to me, the wide cut caused by the severe assault of the butt of a gun. X-rays had been performed, and luckily, physically I was in one piece.

It hadn't taken me long to clash with the reality of what had happened. Images came rushing back within minutes of me waking up, haunting me. My emotions burst from the seams, sobs escaping my mouth, my hands shaking at the memories of Tony being shot.

Bravely I asked Sam what had happened to Tony, and despite deep down knowing, I couldn't yet give up hope without hearing it for myself.

The kind young nurse beside my bed dropped her head, her expression almost identical to that of Tony's when we spoke of my deceased father. In that moment, we both knew she didn't need to speak the dreadful words of truth out loud.

Tony was gone.

The pain of my injuries were nothing in comparison to the pain of knowing Tony had been murdered in front of my very eyes. I should have helped him, I could have done something. All I could envision was his eyes, pleading with me to move, to do something.

An hour after, I lay in my hospital bed, my cheeks dried with salty wet tears. My mind was blank, as was my stare on the white wall ahead of me. I couldn't grasp what had happened, I couldn't comprehend the events that had forever etched themselves in my mind.

Tilting my head to the left, I looked out the window of the high rise hospital room. Darkness swallowed the sky, no stars, no moon, all but few lights of the town below illuminating the community nestled comfortably into their beds.

"Is there anyone we can call Jasmine?" Sam asked me

I shook my head "No, no my mother died when I was 10, and I lost my dad a year ago"

"No aunts or uncles, a friend?" She tried again, grasping for support, a safety net I could fall into

The truth was, there were none I could think of. Yes, I had friends, but none that I felt close enough to tell of what had happened. My job, school, that was my life. When my father passed, I had pushed those more important to me away, perhaps in a defence mechanism. If I was not close to them, and they disappeared like my mother and father had, I wouldn't need to deal with the grief all over again.

Instead, it was Tony's family I grieved for. They would at some point have detectives knocking on their door to reveal to them the horror of what had happened.

It made me cringe.

I shook my head again and swallowed hard, forcing back tears.

She gave me a sympathetic smile "Okay"

"When will I be able to go home?" I mumbled, pulling myself upwards

"Hopefully tomorrow, you need a clearance from the doctor first, and.." She trailed off

"And?" I urged her to finish

"A councillor will be stopping by early tomorrow to speak with you"

A councillor. I hadn't seen one since I was 10. I remembered Mrs Lucas like it was yesterday. She always tapped her pen against the back of her hand, chewing the inside of her cheek as she squinted while listening to me. Even at 10 I knew she had demons of her own that hadn't been addressed.

My head began to pound again, tension filling the veins within my brain, attempting to heal both my body and my mind at an overwhelming rate.

Exhaustion settled in the moment Sam left my unit. I hadn't realised just how tired I was, just how sore I was until I was lying there, alone, motionless, the sound of the machine beside me monotonous and dull.

Closing my eyes, I tried to erase the images that overpowered me. Cringing, tossing, turning, I lost count of how many times I fell asleep only to be woken up no longer than an hour later throughout the night.

When dawn broke, I had risen with the sun.

I looked to the light pouring in through the window, yellow and orange painting the white walls with a gentle pastel glow.

At 7 am, breakfast came, followed by a new nurse. 'Monica' her tag read. She had dark hair and dark eyes, a bright smile and a bounce in her step.

She was a morning person, I shuddered.

"You have a busy day ahead Miss Wright" She began, checking over my blood pressure, the cuff over my left arm cutting off circulation

I internally groaned. I just wanted to go home, go to bed. I needed space to heal, I needed to cry uncontrollably when I thought of what had happened to Tony without a nurse attempting to understand what I had endured. This was my grieving process, this was my automatic reaction to loss, needing to be alone.

Prodding my over cooked poached egg sitting on a plate on the swivel table in front of me, Monica's distinct jubilant voice grew slowly closer. Vision of the hall and main desk overlooking my unit was blocked by the drawn back curtain to my left.

Placing my fork back down on the table, pulling myself upwards properly, Monica and a woman by her side emerged in front of my bed.

"Hi Jasmine" The woman greeted politely, a folder clasped in her manicured hands, her smile slight, fake

"Jasmine this is Claire Watkins, she is our private councillor, she's come to have a chat with you" Monica introduced unnecessarily

I knew who the woman was just by her attire, her posture. She wore black ironed suit pants, smell wedge heels covering her toes, a crisp white collar shirt half hidden by her matching black blazer, buttoned almost to the very top. Her hair was pulled back into a low bun, not a single wisp out of place. She stood straight and tall, like she herself had her life together enough to cure others.

Monica briefly adjusted my fluids before leaving Claire and I alone.

"How are you feeling?" Claire started, moving to my side, pulling a chair alongside me

I shrugged, debating whether to be honest and polite or firm and direct "Upset, confused, angry, sore.. " I trailed off with a shrug

"That's a lot of emotion to be dealing with on your own, Monica says you haven't had any family or friends visit?" She maintained gentle eye contact, pretending she had a genuine interest in my turmoil

"My parents were both only children, they died young, as did my grandparents" I revealed to the stranger beside me "I have learnt how to deal with my emotions on my own well"

I sounded rude, I knew that, but I didn't care, I wasn't in the mood for a shrink appointment.

At first she wasn't sure how to respond, I imagined my response had caught her off guard, but she quickly recovered

"You don't have to process this all alone you know?"

I nodded "I know"

For half an hour, Claire Watkins attempted to pull somewhat of a practical conversation from me. She tried her best to decipher my trauma, picking it to pieces, analysing every word I spoke in response to her questions. On occasions, she would look to her notes and smile, whether she was amused by my witty repartee or complete lack of breakdown, I wasn't sure.

On the inside, I was broken, slowly trying to repair the heartache piece by piece.

By 10am Claire stood with a closing argument about healing, placing her card neatly on the table in front of me, just in case. For the time being, she had given up. I breathed a sigh of relief and thanked her for her 'helpful' advise and support. After urging me one last time to call her office for further appointments, she left.

I knew that I would probably need to make an appointment with her, I probably needed to talk to her about what had happened, but I needed to control my thoughts one by one, approach each emotion in order of importance. If I tackled everything at once, my brain would explode.

First, I wanted to get home, sleep generously until I could think straight.

Sitting up I pulled myself to the edge of the bed, my toes reaching the floor, pushing down until I was upright. Steadying my balance, I took a hold of the near empty IV bag pole to my right and made my way to the bathroom.

I couldn't wait to shower, I couldn't wait to have the cannula removed from my skin. I was suddenly grateful for having only had a gash across my forehead. I couldn't have imagined being trapped inside the hospital for any longer than a few days. I hated the smell, I hated the sight, it reminded me of all the times I had been sitting, waiting for news on my mothers condition, and then years later, my father.

It brought back so many unwanted memories that haunted me to my core, this place had taken everyone I had loved from me.

Looking to my reflection, I realised I wore the same clothes I had worn the day before, the night of the attack. The top of my shirt now stained with splatters of my own blood. The knees of my track pants were scuffled and dirty from having crawled through the rain on rough pavement.

Leaning over the sink, I washed my face with cold water, splashing my neck, my cheeks and my hairline. I then began to work through the knots in my hair with my fingers, pulling at the strands that had matted together until it smoothed out. Using my short fingernails as a makeshift brush, I neatly rearranged my hair into a top bun, small strands falling beside my ears. Ten minutes later, I exited the bathroom.

Instead of returning to the bed, I moved to where the window was, peering down at the world beneath, continuing on with their Thursday daily routine. I wondered where they were going, what jobs they rushed to, what kinds of families they had. I always wondered what it was like to be someone else, absorbed into a life opposite to my own.

"Jasmine?" Monica's voice spoke from behind me, startling me "I'm going to take your cannula out, the doctor will be by shortly to double check that you're okay to head home"

I gave her a small genuine smile, moving back to the edge of the bed to sit while she dismantled the cords and attachments from me. I kept my eyes ahead, not wanting to watch when she finally pulled the needle from my skin, warning me of the pinch.

"How are you feeling, your head, does it hurt? You didn't eat much" She sighed, holding a small cotton bud to my open vein

"A little bit of a headache" I told her with a shrug "But nothing in comparison to last night, and I'll be honest, the food isn't that great"

A small laugh exited her full lips "I can't say I disagree with you there"

Picking up the clipboard at the end of my bed, she scrawled final notes down "I have to admit, I'm impressed by how well you're handling what you've been through"

I looked to her dark gaze above her writings "It could have been worse, right? Even when it's bad, it can always be worse"

She nodded "That's certainly true"

"I just.. I wish I could have done something for Tony.." I looked down at my hands in my lap, my eyes roaming over the small circular bandaid where the needle had been "I've known him since I was a kid.."

When I looked back up, her smile had turned sympathetic, she didn't know how to respond, and that was okay, it was nice to not have her tell me how I should have felt, or why I was feeling the way I was.

Seconds later, her eyes left mine, turning to the hall where hard footsteps neared us. Her expression changed, her posture straightening.

"Good morning" She greeted the unknown approachers with a polite grin