KAT
Family Obligations
Otherkind General Hospital smells like antiseptic and barely contained desperation, which makes it perfect for housing broken supernatural creatures who heal too fast for human medicine and too slow for my shredded heart.
Dave's been unconscious for eighteen hours, and I haven't moved from this chair except to use the bathroom and pretend I'm not falling apart. The machines monitor his vitals while poison works through his system like liquid malice, each beep reminding me that the man I love might never wake up to hear me say it properly.
His face looks peaceful despite the tubes and wires, like he's just sleeping instead of fighting a battle I can't help him win. I've memorized every line, every scar, the way his dark lashes rest against cheeks that still carry
