Letting My Brother's Best Friend Take My V-Card (Jessie and Luke) novel Chapter 384

RUDE AWAKENING 

LAURA 

The world came back to me in pieces. 

It was different this time. 

Less hazy. Less sharp, burning pain. My chest no longer felt like it was being crushed under a bus, and my body–while still foreign and sluggish–wasn’t screaming in agony anymore. 

I blinked slowly, trying to make sense of my surroundings. The bright fluorescent lights, the steady beeping, the sterile scent of antiseptic. A hospital. 

I was in a hospital. 

Then I saw her. 

A beautiful woman sat beside me, her dark hair slicked back into a tight bun, sleek and severe. She had striking features, high cheekbones, and glasses perched perfectly on her nose. She was watching me closely, her expression unreadable, but there was something in her eyes–something calculating like she was assessing every single breath I took. 

I tried to ask what her problem was, but nothing came out. 

The woman sighed and leaned back, and for the first time, I saw the words stitched onto her coat: Dr. Schneider. 

“Don’t try to talk,” she said, her voice cool, precise. “You can’t.” 

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Her accent was thick, German–clipped and professional–but it was hard to understand, like my brain was struggling to process anything beyond the pounding of my own heartbeat. 

Dr. Schneider studied me for a second before continuing, her tone brisk and efficient. 

“We have to assess your ability to maintain your own airway and work with the respiratory therapist to regain control of your diaphragm first. Then, we can consider taking you off the ventilator and closing the tracheostomy.” 

My brows furrowed. What? 

She must have seen the confusion on my face because her expression softened just slightly. 

“The tube in your throat,” she clarified, gesturing toward her own neck, “is helping you breathe. We cannot remove it until we are certain you can do so on your own.” 

I lifted my arm, sluggish and disoriented, trying to reach for the tube she was talking about–but my arm barely moved. 

It felt like lead. 

Heavy. Useless. 

I glanced down, expecting to see something wrong–bandages, wires, something–but my arms looked normal. My hands were thinner than I remembered, paler, but they were mine. So why did they feel so wrong? 

Dr. Schneider exhaled, watching me carefully. 

“You lack muscle tone,” she explained. “We have been doing 

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therapy with you twice a day to slow the atrophy of your muscles, but-” she hesitated just slightly before delivering the blow-“three years in a coma is a very long time, and despite our efforts…” 

My entire body locked up. 

What? 

The heart monitor beeped faster, my breathing coming in quick, 

shallow gasps. 

Years. 

I wasn’t just injured. 

I wasn’t just sick. 

I had been in a coma for three years. 

Panic shot through me, my chest tightening, my mind scrambling for answers, for memories, for anything to make sense of this, but all I had were flashes. 

Ice on the road. 

Jess beside me. 

The lights coming toward us. 

Then- 

Nothing. 

Three. Years. 

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I tried to say something, to scream, to ask–but nothing came out. 

My heart was racing so fast that the monitor beside me started beeping louder, a shrill, frantic sound that matched the panic flooding my veins. 

Three years. 

I had been in a coma for three years. 

I tried to move again, tried to force my body to do something— to push myself up, to speak, to scream—but nothing worked. 

Dr. Schneider reached for something near my IV, adjusting a setting, her expression carefully composed. “Breathe, Laura,” she instructed. “Panicking will not help. I know this is overwhelming, but you must remain calm.” 

Calm? 

I’d lost three years of my life, and she wanted me to be calm?