“Of course it does. It’s been in there long enough to swell around it.”
His hand presses harder. I cry out, body arching despite myself. Every movement makes fire shoot up my spine. My legs tremble uncontrollably. I can’t breathe. For one heart-stopping moment, panic threatens to swallow me whole. And then a memory slides in. Soft, warm, nothing like this place.
Seth behind me in bed, his breath on my neck, his hand covering mine.
Baby, you’re okay. Breathe with me.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Inhale.
Hold.
Exhale.
I repeat it until my lungs obey.
The physician grunts. “Good. Stay still. Almost there.”
He twists the dart once. White-hot agony spikes through me. My scream tears through the room, muffled only when I bite down on the pillow until fabric fills my teeth.
Then a sickening wet pop as the metal slips free. Warm blood flows instantly.
“One down,” he says.
I am shaking so hard the cot rattles.
He doesn’t wait. The second dart tears even deeper when he probes for it. His fingers press directly into the torn muscle, searching for the barbed edge.
A thin, broken sound escapes me. “Please—”
“Quiet.”
He finds the dart and pulls.
My vision blacks out for a second. My body arches off the cot, nerves screaming. My tears soak the pillow. My breath stutters.
Seth’s voice echoes again in my mind:
Focus on one point. Block everything else out. I’ve got you.
I stare at a crack in the wall.
Breathe.
Hold.
Exhale.
The physician moves to the third wound.
“That one is deep,” he murmurs. “Don’t move unless you want me to rupture something important.”
I dig my nails into the cot frame and brace myself. When he pulls the final dart free, I nearly black out again. Heat flushes through my body, followed by cold, followed by a hollow dizziness like I am not fully in my skin anymore.
By the time he finishes cleaning the wounds and stitching them closed, sweat soaks my hairline and the cot sheet beneath me.
He straightens with a sigh. “You’ll live.”
