#OPERATION: ── * MORBID CURIOSITY.
" How long has it been since you’ve slept ? "
the morphine had slowly begun to trickle into her veins, spreading a light ease through her system that she hadn't felt in years. there's no telling the last time she ever felt this ditzy; maybe in her late teens when she could drink her bodyweight in booze and still wake up light as a feather the next morning. not so much now, thudding headache accompanying her instead.
the ache had subsided, unless she dared to move an inch — then she felt it, [each striking blow; crunching bones and the bitter tang of metallic filling her mouth] reminded of why she laid in a hospital bed, forced to stare up at the colour of sickness and death, unable to avoid @fortifeid's questions. especially in this state. not that she wanted to, a strange sense of comfort in the mundane — the pure simplicity. “since this morning.” eyes close, chest lifting as the monitor beeps. “i haven't slept properly in days.” she'll blame the morphine for the honesty come morning. that was better than admitting defeat; in stripping herself down and giving up something so simple.
“where are my belongings?” it dawns on her then, an uncomfortable rumble below the surface at not having something within reach to hash out whatever journey her nightmares dreams decided to take her on. [not that she'll remember a single thing come morning; all of this but a foggy memory that will wake her dead in the night months to come]
