Page 26

This is only the tip of the iceberg on how weird today has been, but if I can get a better grip on my body’s symptoms, then let’s fucking do it.

CHAPTER

SEVEN

NOOR

I was right. I can feel every single bruise now that the morphine is no longer available. Wincing as I get out of bed on Tuesday morning, I limp to the bathroom. The hospital wouldn’t let me out until Monday afternoon, and by that point there was no reason to go anywhere but home.

Huh. I can’t think of this place like that yet. It’s too early. I need to make sure I can survive here at least a couple more months before I jump off the emotional cliff, right?

I make sure to take my medication for the day before doing anything else, because it’s ingrained in me to do so. I’ve been taking it for so long, it’s normal now. It doesn’t matter that some of it has been adjusted by the hospital, it’s still part of my daily routine.

The warm water of the shower helps to ease my sore muscles, but it also flares the nerve endings from the cuts over my neck and chest. I can’t linger long in hot showers because it’ll make me lightheaded, so I hurry through my shower routine before stepping out.

I’m going to have to do some major work on my face. I have sunken eye sockets from not sleeping great at the hospital and let’s face it, the trauma of school. I woke up on a strangled scream several times, and a nurse asked if I needed to see someone from the psych unit.

Rachelle came in with coffee at that time and said that wouldn’t be necessary. As soon as the nurse left, Rachelle said she’d find me a therapist and psychiatrist that we could trust. I think she’s a little scarred from her time in a mental health facility, and I don’t blame her.

Even if she hadn’t said something, I would have refused to see anyone from their psych unit. That just sounded scary. I didn’t need any reason to be kept for longer at the hospital.

I spend the next hour sitting in my robe in front of the mirror blowing out my hair, pinning it into a braided bun to keep people from pulling on my fucking hair, and then do my makeup. Color correction, heavy foundation, and a few brightening techniques I find online help bring me from half dead to awake and looking healthier.

I know it’s a lie, but I have to fake it till I make it every day.

Checking the time, I brush my teeth and then force myself to walk slowly to my closet. Even then, I swoon slightly on my feet and grab onto the door frame to keep myself from going down.

Fuck me, today is going to be rough.

I’m sweating slightly by the time I’m done getting dressed. I leave the door open and lay down, needing a break. Someone will come get me, I’m sure of it.

“Noor?”

Groaning, I open my eyes to find both Liliana and Rachelle standing by the bed.

“Am I late?” I ask.

“No, but I definitely think you need to eat something before you take your pain meds,” Rachelle decides and sighs.

“I took everything else before I showered,” I mumble. “Be forewarned, I’m going to move extra slow today.”

“I don’t really care if we’re late,” Rachelle says. “Take your time, and we don’t actually have to go if you don’t want to. I’ll call in sick and we can watch movies while Liliana makes us dessert.”

“I mean, I’m not against this,” Liliana laughs. “The kids have a half day at school today. I’m craving something with chocolate and marshmallows.”

“Ugh, and now I want to stay home,” I laugh, pushing myself up slowly to sit. I breathe through the ache, and blink the light sparkles away that are exacerbated by my bruises.

“There’s still time,” Liliana teases, holding out her hand as I drop my feet onto the ground. I’m fully clothed, and ready for the day. There’s even shoes on my damn feet.

“I’m committed,” I explain, sighing, taking her hand as I stand slowly.

“I hate to say this, but your makeup looks amazing,” Rachelle grumbles.

“I have a lot of practice with color correcting bruises,” I say with a wince. “If only there was a job where I wouldn’t feel like an asshole covering up bruises all day.”

“Lots of makeup stylists use that knowledge for other reasons,” Rachelle mentions.

“My makeup technique is limited, I’m afraid,” I admit. “I still need to find a job.”