The bed felt too soft for someone who had failed. Every inch of it mocked me. The crisp white sheets, the faint scent of antiseptic and lavender—symbols of weakness.
I shouldn’t have been there. I should’ve withstood it—his beast, his presence, his power. I should’ve looked him dead in the eye and not flinched, not crumbled like I did.
“Pathetic,” I muttered under my breath, turning again in the bed, wincing as a dull ache shot through my ribs. I cursed quietly, dragging my arm over my eyes.
I should’ve stayed standing. I should’ve stayed strong.
Instead, I lay there like some wounded pup in the healing centre. The day had grown brighter; sunlight leaked through the blinds in sharp, golden lines, and I could hear the soft hum of students walking past the hallway—laughing, gossiping, l
