Anger comes easier than fear.
It burns hotter, steadier—keeps me upright when everything else threatens to fold me in half.
I sit rigid on the edge of the bed while the doctor works, jaw clenched so tightly my teeth ache. Her hands move efficiently, practiced, dabbing antiseptic against the shallow scratches along my neck and cheek. She keeps talking—soft, careful words meant to soothe—but I don’t respond. I don’t even look at her.
Because if I do, I might explode.
“…no signs of infection,” she says. “Healing is progressing faster than expected. Try not to—”
“How fast?” I cut in.
She pauses.
“Faster than normal,” she says after a beat. “But stress can—”
“That’s not an answer.”
Her fingers still. Slowly, she straightens and meets my gaze, something wary flickering behind her profes
