[Bianca]
The next two days at the hospital dragged like hell. Every hour felt the same—nurses in and out, monitors chirping, disinfectant stinging my nose. I had too much time on my hands.
Too much time to think. Too much time to replay that night.
I could've sworn Mr. Wentworth had been there. I remembered his hands around my throat, the sound of his voice. But when I asked, none of the nurses could describe the man who'd stopped by. Their answers were vague—tall, maybe? Dark hair... or brown. Honestly, they might as well have said a 'male man'.
So I ran to the bathroom and yanked at the collar of my gown, half-dreading, half-hoping to see bruises.
There weren't any. My skin was smooth. Unmarked.
That's when I began to wonder if I was really losing it.
The second night proved worse
