InsaneJournal

Current mood:	confused
Entry tags:	ben, ben and mina, mina

Day 3
Who: Ben, Open
Where: He has NO idea. It should be near MRI reception, but it sure as hell isn't
When: Day 3, mid morning


Ben awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright, his eyes opening wide.

This was a monumental error on his part. The pain that hit his head sent his vision into a monochromatic kaleidoscope of sharp edges and he fell back with a whimper, his forehead already starting to bead with sweat and his stomach clenching with a distinct impression of nausea.

He lay where he was for a moment, unable to concentrate on anything other than clearing at least one of his senses so he could better process his surroundings. Because it was obvious that he wasn't where he had been. He thought for a moment that he must have passed out and been taken to a private room to recover. This thought was dispelled when he tried to sit up again, slowly this time, and glanced around the room he was in, taking care not to send his brain into sensory revolt again.

He had no idea where he was.

He frowned and stayed where he was while his brain was still coping with the molassas-dipped cotton that seemed to be clogging his perceptive and reasoning functions. He remembered the MRI unit. He remembered pain - he definitely remembered pain. And... things with a bright white "theme" that made him uneasy. He shook his head to rid it of the half-images which he knew instinctively were Not Good.

He was thirsty. He licked his lips and grimaced at the taste in his mouth. Testing the ground, he stood slowly and rubbed at his shoulder. His headache was still there, but it seemed to have settled to a moderate dull throb now rather than the all-comsuming agony it had been on his awakening.

Looking for a kitchen, or at least a supply of drinking water - although coffee would be better - Ben left the room he was in and walked into what looked like a living room. It was only then that he realized his feet were bare. He idly wondered what had happened to his shoes, but his need for water was greater than his curiosity about his wardrobe, so he continued looking.

It wasn't a difficult task and he soon located both water and a glass to hold it in. He drank deeply but not so much as to make him nauseous again.

He really needed to find out where he was and get back to the hospital as soon as he could. Continuing his search, Ben found a bathroom. Well, a quick freshen-up wouldn't hurt. He walked in, his hand automatically going to his chin.

Which was stubbly.

But that was ridiculous. He'd only shaved this morning. He might need to shave every day, but it was never more than once a day. The mirror over the basin told him that the evidence of his hand was correct, however. He definitely had around a day's growth there. He turned to look for a razor and scratched unconsciously at his shoulder.

That was when Ben realized the following:

He had no shirt on. Actually, looking down he was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts.

There was a band-aid on his shoulder and his upper arm ached. Oh... that would be the hypo.

The hypo?

Fuck... well that was another memory restored, but they hadn't injected him where the band-aid was. They injected him where the ache was. That told Ben that the band-aid wasn't the site of the ache and he touched it again.

It hurt. In fact, more than aching, it stung like hell. He winced and went back to the mirror, checking his shoulder as he removed the band-aid.

Well no. That certainly was no damn injection site. Ben frowned and swore under his breath since he couldn't get any closer to the damn mirror. But from what he could see, a small section of his skin had been removed. The wound was reddened but not bleeding and seemed to be a small square.

Unaccountably, Ben suddenly felt sick again and decided he had to get out of this place, wherever it was. He needed fresh air and he needed it fast.

He almost ran back to the bedroom in which he'd awoken and started pulling open drawers and cupboards at random, not surprised when he found clothes. He didn't stop to ponder their presence since the ramifications of it would very likely stop him in his tracks and he had no time for that now. He pulled on a t-shirt, wincing again when the material raked over the raw bit of his shoulder, then pulled on a pair of jeans - they fit. How in hell did they fit?

Okay, no. That was Pondering and Pondering was Bad. He sat on the bed to pull on a pair of socks and that was when he noticed a pair of boots neatly left under a dresser. He grabbed them. They weren't new - they'd been fashionably scuffed at some stage, but the insides of them felt as though they'd never been worn before. Ben pulled them on, laced them up to the bottom of the calf, and stood. He dragged his fingers through his hair - anything neater would have to wait - and ran to the door to get his fresh air. All of this had taken him no more than five minutes, and yet it had seemed like an hour or more.

The fresh air outside made Ben grab for the wall with the sudden wave of light-headedness. He stayed there until his vision slowed and cleared, then he stood, looked around him and, leaving the door wide open - after all it wasn't his door and nothing in there belonged to him anyway - he began walking.