The next day, the door opens again but it's not my mother this time:

- Hello Muzelina! Guess who it is ? It's Aunt Iris!

My Aunt Iris ?! The best aunt in the world?!

Iris MacGregor is my father's sister, which also makes her my aunt. Unlike the latter, my aunt is not severe or even unsympathetic. On the contrary: she is the best aunt in the world! With her, you are sure that "babysitting" rhymes with "holiday camp"! She always has ideas and she's so funny on top of that! She approaches me and sits on the chair placed just in front. I smell several scents of perfumes in the room: it is she who brought them on entering. For my aunt Iris, one perfume is not enough: she has always had to perfume herself with fivedifferent flavors! When, as a child, I asked her why she felt obliged to do it, she always replied: “It's not an obligation my muse: it's a choice! And then, you have to know how to respect the diversity of things. The dozen bracelets that she still has to wear on her

wrists as usual, clash when she moves them. She rests her forearms on the bed and leans into me causing her curly auburn hair to gently tickle my nose.

- SO ? How are you big party? It's still been a while! Of course I would have liked to see you and Noah again in other circumstances, but hey! she exclaims, clapping her hands. Life and its pleasures what do you want? Note, this will allow us to make up for lost time!

She then begins to tell me all about her life, or at least the recent events that I missed. She varies the subjects one after the other from the most banal to the most unusual, such as the story of her cat Pacha, who was found asleep behind the back of his house when he had been missing for a day and half.

- I assure you Muz: cats are vicious! I already thought so before but now it's official: I'm sure of it! This cat will drive me crazy one day!

She then observes a moment of silence which, curiously, seems to go on forever. Usually, my aunt never has her tongue in her pocket: it's a veritable chatterbox and there, nothing more.

At the same time with what is happening to us, can we still talk about what we had thought of in the past as "ordinary" as such?....

- It's funny, you know. she finally said.

What's "funny"?...

- You are here ! Lying in front of me completely inert but alive ! It's... It's as if I had the impression of talking to a goldfish in fact: you see, they listen to you with their big protruding eyes but in the end they don't retain anything of what you tell them entrusts ! A little like you.

She sighs heavily before continuing:

- Except that with the goldfish, we have the certainty that they listen to us whereas you... I... I don't even know if you hear me, if you're thinking in your little head, if I missing... Anyway! I'm going to stop my little spiel and get straight to the point: Muza dear, you're alive and you're going to stay that way . Because you have to come back to us. You hear me ?

That's when I feel something fall on my closed eyelid.

Tears ?...

Aunt Iris is crying ?! As far as I can remember, I've never seen my aunt cry: she's always in a good mood! It's a real “ray of sunshine” to use my mother's words. I feel his two hands come to rest on mine.

- Come back, my muse! she begs me, calling me by my nickname. I miss you. We all miss you ! You hear me ?!

Aunt Iris....

I would so much like to answer her: reassure her, tell her that I love her, tell her that I miss her too, that I miss them all! And above all, that I will return. That I will return among them!

But how to promise and assure something that does not depend on you? One thing for which you are completely helpless? Something completely out of your control?

A few days later, it was my four best turn to come to my bedside too.

They who usually heckle, laugh, exude joy and joie de vivre, entered the room in dead silence. I hear the chairs scraping the floor and it's the only noise that disturbs the silence that reigns in the room except for the beep, repetitive cardiogram beeps. I also hear someone blowing their nose and I know right away it's Cynthia: she's always been the most emotional of us.

- It's all my fault! she laments.

- Oh, stop saying that! laughs Margo. You weren't driving!

- Yes , but if I hadn't invited him, it wouldn't have happened! His mother would never have asked him out!

Margo huffs.

- You know very well that she would have done it anyway!

- She wouldn't have done it and you know it very well!

- Well, are you going to stop? Stiles intervenes. Our goal is to show her that we are there for her to help her wake up , not to debate "whose fault is it"!

Margo and Cynthia are silent.

- And how do we do that? asks the latter.

- Let's tell him the latest high school gossip and our days there. Usually it works. Adam offers.

- Oh yes ? And where did you see that, head of a knot? Margo asks.

- I don't know: in the series and the movies it seems to work rather well then...

- Wait: in the series ?! exclaim Margo. Are you serious ?

- For what ? Do you have a better idea maybe? he asks her. If it works in the series, it can work just as well in real life!

- Ah, because for you we seem to be in a movie there? Muza would be very happy to see what you think of her, it's really nice! “Oh, it looks like a movie, that's cool! Margo exclaims, mockingly mimicking Adam's male voice.

- You better shut her up, Margo. he threatens her.

- Otherwise what ?

- Otherwise, I'll kick you both out of here with a lot of kicks in the ass! Stiles suddenly exclaims. I already told you that we weren't here to argue and you continue, seriously! You don't even have respect for Muza! Now either shut it up or open it up but to say some smart stuff that will serve everyone's interest!

Adam and Margo don't say a word. Stiles sighs deeply before declaring that Adam's idea isn't so bad and they have nothing to lose anyway.

The first person to start is Cynthia. First of all, she begins to confuse herself with apologies before telling me about her weekend and her difficult start to the week in high school. Then follow Adam and Margo who also tell me about their different days in great detail. I learn that Margo has not returned to class since the day of my accident and even that a psychological unit had been set up in high school at the request of certain students.

That's because of my brother's reputation....

Adam, on the other hand, continues to go to high school just like Cynthia. But he admits to me all the same that he voluntarily skips certain classes, in particular, and what surprised me, his American football training. Adam is the quarterback of the team: he is therefore one of the essential players in the formation. He is very talented and I even think that he could even manage to obtain an excellent scholarship thanks to that.

But knowing that he no longer goes to training because of me... No, I don't agree...

- I don't want you to feel guilty. he said. Because you're not: it was I who made this decision and if I did it it's because... You used to come... You came all the time to attend my workouts all the time ! When I entered the field and put on my helmet, as soon as I looked up, it was your face that I saw but there... You are no longer there and... It's.. I can't do it. For the moment anyway, but I promise, I'll pull myself together: otherwise when you wake up, you might hit me on the head.

He squeezes my hand briefly before pulling it away.

I don't know if it will allow me to wake up one day, but hearing them talk like that, telling me about their fears, their doubts, their feelings, their emotions, what they too are going through, makes me feel GOOD.

It doesn't make me forget my condition but at least it makes me feel a little less alone. A few minutes later after they all wish me well, the door opens and they walk out. All but one and I know it's Stiles: he always felt he had to protect me like he owed me something. Of my four best friends, he is the one I know the most: our mothers having become friends soon after I moved here,

- Excuse them, Muz. he said. They are sad, embarrassed and... They don't know how to react and... The only thing they have found is to be the puppets.

I know it: don't worry, Stiles....

- We love you very much, you know that?

He caresses my hand and squeezes it from time to time.

- We love you very much and we need you. So wake up Muza. I love you very much and the others too.

He leans down and places a kiss on my inert cheek. He gets up opens the door, sighs and finally leaves.

I love you too Stiles. I love you all....

***

Many days have passed since then and I am still immersed in this damn artificial coma. I'm still stuck in this bed, with this IV bag that keeps dripping in the tube attached to my arm, and the annoying beeps from the cardiograph telling me I'm still alive. The days go by and all look alike: visiting hours, nurses coming, visiting hours, nurses coming, visiting hours, nurses coming... Given my total inability to

communicate with the outside world, I can't know with certainty the exact time that has elapsed since my arrival here: all that I know comes to me from this incessant broom of nurses. It is only thanks to them that I manage to situate myself a little bit in this great unknown vagueness that time represents for me.

I wonder how those who have been in a coma for so many years have managed to bear all this....

Me, I'm starting to saturate: I feel like I'm going crazy!

All the people who come to my bedside carry so much pain and sadness that it is palpable: I really have the impression that I can feel their distress! There on my skin! All these people complain and beg me to "heal", "to emerge from the coma" and it is mainly this that drives me crazy: I am condemned to hear them cry about my fate without being able to do anything! "Muz wake up", "I beg you, get out of the coma" and so many others!

"Wake up", "wake up", "wake up", "wake up"....

In addition, all my family members have already all come at least once.

All, except three: Noah, of course, my little brother Benjamin who we preferred to dismiss because of his young age, but especially my father.

Since the day of my hospitalization, he never came to see me again. I know very well that my state of health worries him but still: the fact that he doesn't even come to see me leads me to think the opposite! There are members of my family who drove more than ten hours just to come see me and my father, my own father who lives nearby does not even deign to move?!

It hurts my heart just to think about it...

Among the most assiduous visitors, the first place goes to my mother: she has always come since the day of my hospitalization. Thanks to her, I stay up to date with the life that continues to unfold around me: my father got a new contract, Benji learns to use a knife and fork properly, our mailbox is overloaded letters of encouragement, pretty greeting cards wishing Noah and me a good recovery.....etc. Second place goes to my friends: they come as often as possible even if it is sometimes difficult because of high school. Each time they visit, I am treated to a little routine argument, an awkward silence and the story of their respective days. And at the end,

And then there's Stiles....

He is present at each of the visits of my group of friends but once the three of them leave, he is the only one who stays with me for a little longer. Sometimes he speaks, other times he doesn't: he prefers to remain silent and strangely, this silence, his silence, doesn't bother me. I am therefore not surprised that it is to him that I attribute the third place of the most assiduous visitors. Moreover, every time he is about to leave, he squeezes my hand, tells me he loves me and he kisses me on the forehead or on the cheek.

Stiles and I have a habit of showing each other affectionate gestures: we often hug each other, we stay cuddled in each other's arms, we often go out together and sometimes I even kiss him on the plays and he does too, but all of this is just emotional demonstrations, but in the realm of friendship and nothing more: there's nothing at all between him and me. Our friendship situation intrigues a lot of people, including our three other best friends: for them, it's not "normal" that we can be so close to each other without ever feeling anything at all. Let them believe what they want: I know I'm friends with Stiles and that's fine with me.

Isn't it?... A little later, I was surprised to have a visit from the doctor in charge of my case. He was accompanied by my mother whose voice I recognized.

- Should we wait for your husband or can I start the beginning of the diagnosis? he asks.

- No, no: my husband will not be able to join us. So start. answers my mother.

- Alright ! So, the recovery of your daughter, Mrs. MacGregor is on the right track: the various tests and scanners that we made her pass reveal the presence of a strong cerebral activity which is excellent news.

- So that would mean that Muza hears us when we talk to him? Can she think? she seems to rejoice given the perky tone that her voice has just taken.

- That could indeed be the case. says the doctor. It has now been almost ten days since we placed your daughter in an artificial coma, nine days to be more precise, and given her encouraging results, we can consider preparing for an early awakening. Very close even.

- Oh ! But that's wonderful! exclaims my mother.

An alarm clock ? I will finally be able to open my eyes?!....

Suddenly, I feel a sag just at the right level of my pillow, as if someone had leaned on that corner of the bed.

- Do you hear that honey? rejoices my mother. You can wake up honey! You will finally be able to open your eyes just like Noah!

Wait: how does that "like Noah"?....

Did the orderlies wake him up before me? He would have managed to emerge from the coma?

But how did he do it?...

- Attention Mrs. MacGregor, warns the doctor, do not rejoice so soon: I have clearly specified a “soon to wake up”. Muzelina will still have to fight for a while but if she continues this momentum, it could only be fine. Just like his brother.

What ?!...

- Of course ! It won't be long! I am so relieved!

Then I feel a hand on my forehead, stroking my hair.

- Do you hear that honey? Soon you will be back with us. With all of us ! And everyone is eagerly awaiting your return!

She arranges a strand of my hair over my face and caresses my cheek as she passes.

- You look so peaceful like that: it almost looks like you're sleeping and, I can't believe you'll soon be able to fully open your eyes!

Except that I'm not sleeping mom!....

I'm in a fucking artificial coma and I have to stay there for a while yet?! What more should I do? Why did Noah wake up and not me? How did he do it? Why him and not me ? Where did he find the strength to emerge from this fucking coma ? How ? Why ?

- The whole family wants you back home, honey. she said, not stopping kissing me on the cheek. Everyone .

Oh yes ? And this is also the case for dad?.... Are you sure?....

Does my father also want me back? Does he even think of me? A little at least? Or is it just his damn job and the pretty jackpot he's scooped up with that he cherishes more than anything?

The whole time I've been here, stuck in this bed, my dad didn't even bother to come see me so why am I going to wake up? So that afterwards I still go unnoticed by him? So that he doesn't even pay a little more attention to me? Except when it concerns high school where Monsieur finally thinks he is good at giving me advice or should I say orders! He never listens to me, doesn't even deign to pay attention to what pleases me, or to my friends: the only thing that matters to him is his reputation and of course, for that I would have to not make him shame just like Noah has fun doing it! For that, I would have to join the best university in the country so that I could make his surname reign everywhere I would go! I look like a ghost, right?

Of course: in the absence of having three of his children placed in good universities, two are more than enough!....

Poor Benji: I don't give much of his education after Noah and me.

I have always been a good student. I have always done everything to make my parents proud of me and the result? My father allows himself to snub me when I need him the most?! Seriously: do I look like a ghost or what?

And then Noah! Noah who managed to wake up! Noah who is a bad student, Noah who always gets noticed, Noah who does as he pleases... This Noah managed to wake up and not me?! For what ?! Why ?!

Suddenly my regular breathing is more panting, the repetitive and jerky noises of the cardiograph are more urgent, more regular. My mother panicked and called the doctor. The latter calls the nurses who arrive in disaster and see my condition. They try to push my mother away, who refuses and wants to stay.

- No ! No, leave me please! It's my daughter ! My only daughter! Leave me, please! Please ! Muz, fight darling! Please don't go! Muz! Muz !

Her cries, her plaintive cries disappear behind two soundproof doors whose knocking I hear. This heavy noise resounds in my ears like the sound of a funeral gals who has just struck my hour.

Having been taken to another room which I assume to be a resuscitation room, I feel around me and I hear above all, the nurses busying themselves in the room: they undress me and apply two kinds of metal objects to my chest. oils that send electric shocks through my body.

At the first discharge: nothing.

At the second discharge: still nothing.

During the third discharge, still nothing too: I gave no sign of life. The cardiograph counter emits a shrill and intermittent biiiig but the doctors do not stop for all that: they persevere and continue the attempts despite everything.

After I-don't-know-how-many discharges , the nurses stop everything at the request of the doctor who had followed us up to here.

- Stop everything and put everything away: it's too late. he said wearily. We couldn't save her. Time of death: 8 p.m.; zero zero.

I hear the sad and resigned sighs of those who tried everything to revive me.

Hey ! Wait: don't give up! You failed to revive my body, but I'm still here! My mind is still working! Hey !....

Unfortunately, who would manage to hear the inner complaints of a supposedly dead young girl?

Wait, wait!....

I feel like a poor little bird stuck in a cage: no matter how hard I hit and howled with all my might against my carnal envelope, no one will ever listen to me! It's as if I'm banging against a pane, a pane that would allow me to join the outside world and that this pane refuses to break!

A few moments later, I feel that I am moved again, this time settling on a rolling metal object. They roll me to another room and I immediately feel the clear difference: here, it's much colder.

They transport me again on a kind of long metal plank. I feel them deposit something on my naked body and cover my head with it.

So that's it....

I am definitely dead.