The room was heavy with tension as the doctor my mom had called over finished stitching up my back, wrapping up my leg and carefully wrapped my blistered, cut, shaking hands. The sting of antiseptic still lingered, but the worst part wasn't the pain- it was facing the reality of everything that had just happened. I could still feel the fight in my bones, the adrenaline slowly wearing off.
And somehow I'd protected my stomach through all of it.
Dad stood nearby, his expression filled with concern as he watched the doctor finish up his work.
He couldn't seem to stop staring at me.
"Are you sure you don't need a hospital to run tests on you?" Dad asked, his voice tight with worry. "The cut on your back looks pretty deep."
"I'll be fine," I replied firmly, though the pain was real, the tightness of the stitches pulling against my skin. It wasn't just my body that was battered; my mind felt broken too. "Actually, Dad, I have something to tell you."
