The cuts and bruises on both my arms and legs are gone; miraculously disappeared like they’ve never been there in the first place. I crawl and wobble out of bed, sick of lying there like a vegetable.
It takes a moment to balance myself and find my footing, but once I take a step, muscle memory kicks in and I start moving fine. Three weeks and three days is apparently not enough time to forget how to walk.
But enough time to forget how humor works, haha.
I slip into the adjourning bathroom, triple check to make sure the bathroom door is locked behind me before heading straight to the ginormous mirror above the white sink.
“How charming…” I mutter to my reflection sarcastically.
I look like a corpse. And not in the sexy, Tim Burton character sort of way, but more like dead for a century
