Stella
When I woke up the next day, it was to restraint.
Not straps. Not guards.
Containment.
My abdomen throbbed in a deep, steady burn beneath layers of compression bandage. Someone had tucked the blanket around me as if I might shatter if exposed to air. I hated it immediately.
The doctor noticed the second my eyes opened.
"Help me up?" I asked, already fumbling for the bed remote.
"You need to remain still," she said, stepping toward the bed as it began to sit me upright. "Your internal sutures—"
"I am aware of my internal sutures," I replied flatly.
My voice sounded stronger than I felt. I pushed myself to stand anyway.
Pain flared—white, blinding, immediate. My vision blurred. I gritted my teeth and rode it out. The stitches pulled hard enough to make my stomach roll.
Ac
