When I wake up, I feel that I’m lying on something not very soft. I grimace as I realize it must be the bed in the nurse’s office. That thing was never made for patients. It’s impossible. What if someone’s missing half their arm and half their leg and they have to bleed on top of something that makes their back hurt?
“She’s awake,” I hear a familiar voice say, and it’s filled with relief. I force myself to open my eyes, trying to get used to the invasive light of the fluorescents, shining directly at me.
“Yeah, and I’ll go blind if someone doesn’t turn that damn light off,” I grunt, trying to pick myself up. I manage to lean myself on my forearms, blinking like crazy as I try to get used to the light.
But someone clearly listens to me, because I soon get a damn shade above my head. And
