Abby
The antiseptic smell of the hospital surrounds me, a cold, clinical scent that seems to hang in the air. I glance down at my arm, now wrapped in white gauze, the skin beneath it red and angry. The pain pulses with every heartbeat, but it’s a dull, manageable ache for now.
“Abby, you should be heading home to rest,” the doctor’s firm voice breaks through my thoughts. He’s an older man, silver hair and a gentle, fatherly demeanor. “That burn needs time to heal, and you need time to recover.”
“I understand, doctor,” I reply, doing my best to sound appreciative. “Thank you.”
Karl waits just outside the small cubicle, flipping through a magazine. The fluorescent lights highlight the worry lines on his forehead. He looks up as I emerge, magazine forgotten.
“All set?”
