*Jax*
It took only three stitches for Doctor Heindell to close up the wound on Colette’s head, and for that I was grateful.
The wound wasn’t deep, but head wounds bleed substantially more than normal wounds. Thankfully, her mental state seemed to be improving as time went on— she was more aware of her surroundings, her speech less slurred. I watched her face closer than I’d ever watched anything in my life as Heindell closed her wound— looking for any tiny signs of cognitive distress.
As he wiped away the blood from her neck, with alcohol wipes, I just couldn’t look away from it. And not for any reason other than anger.
“She’s definitely got a concussion,” Heindell announced. His beady eyes were studious. Heindell was a man I was grateful to have had in my pocket. He helped me with
