I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing my breath to slow.
In. Out. In. Out. Control it.
The throbbing in my arm hadn’t stopped. If anything, it had gotten worse—sharp and burning with every tiny movement, like someone had driven a knife straight into my elbow and left it there, twisting it every time I breathed. My head spun, and my room suddenly felt smaller, like the walls were closing in around me.
I needed air. I needed to think.
I couldn’t just sit here, drowning in this f*****g bullshit. I couldn’t let Caleb win.
I needed a plan.
Okay, I guess step one was pretty obvious: Figure out what the f**k was wrong with my arm.
Was it broken? Had the muscle torn? Did a tendon rip? Was I going to need metal f*****g screws in my arm like some kind of cyborg???
I grabbed my phone with my good
