“Headache?” he asks.
I let out something like a groan and try to talk but it comes out as a whisper. “Feels like someone hit me with a truck.”
“Close enough,” he says dryly. “Any nausea?”
The word itself makes my stomach heave. I clamp my jaw. “Yeah.”
“Ringing in the ears?”
I listen for a second. Under the beeping and the soft hum of the oxygen concentrator in the corner, there’s a high, steady whine in the background of everything.
“Yes.”
He nods, unsurprised. “All right, look at me.”
I turn my head a few degrees and instantly regret it. The room tilts again, walls sliding sideways. His face doubles, then snaps back into one when I force my eyes to focus.
“Good,” he says. He lifts a small penlight. “Pupils.”
“No,” I mutter, but he’s already doing it.
The light slices straight through my eye and detonates in the back of my skull. I curse under my breath, trying to flinch away, but his fingers are firm on my jaw.
“Pupils are equal, reactive,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me. He switches to the other eye. Same torture. Same explosion.
“Stop,” I grind out.
“We’re almost done.” He leans back, giving me space. “Can you squeeze my hands?”
He holds both of his out. I lift my arms with effort but they feel like they’ve got lead poured into the muscles. I wrap my fingers around his and squeeze. It’s not my full strength, but it’s symmetrical.
“Good. Wiggle your toes for me.”
I obey, feeling the fabric of the sheets drag over my ankles. My stomach twists again as the movement shifts the world a few millimeters.
“Name?” he asks.
I glare at him. “You know my fucking name.”
“Humor me.”
“Kasien.” My voice is hoarse.
“Surname?” He lifts his eyebrows.
“Don’t make me say it.” I would roll my eyes if I could.
“Do you know what happened?”
Images shudder through my head in pieces.
Headlights. Metal screaming. Cold. Water slamming into my lungs. Kiara’s hand slipping out of mine. The river swallowing the car.
She saved us. She shot the glass and saved us from the car. The pressure in my skull spikes.
“We went off the road,” I say slowly. Even talking feels like dragging barbed wire over my brain. “Hit the water.”
He nods once. “Good. Do you remember the impact?”
