"your shirt… is that blood?" from @solismedical
some days, she struggles to believe she's awake. as if she's still locked in coma - still trapped in own body, in shadows that last both seconds && months all in the same breath. the world kept on spinning, people moved on, and she's long since lost track of how many once friends still believe her to be dead. yet there's a numbness that remains: barely processing his words before she glances to where he's looking, at red staining her sleeve.
"damn. I must have scratched it on something when I wasn't paying attention." she shifts her arm gently all the same, turning it to look at where red marks freckled skin, where pale flesh has been split in nasty cut. "don't have a plaster on you, do you doc?"
