I blinked up at her. “Yes, but I understand it more than I speak it. You can speak to me in English.” My father taught us French, but I preferred not to speak it.
“Okay. How do you feel?”
“Like I got hit by a truck,” I muttered.
She nodded politely. I looked at my arm, and an IV was taped down.
“What’s in me?”
“Fluids,” she said calmly. “Vitamins. Medication to help your body stabilize.”
“What medication?”
She didn’t flinch at the question. I appreciated that.
“Support for detox,” she said. “Something for nausea, something to help you rest. And vitamins. Nothing you can get addicted to. Your body was extremely depleted when you fainted.”
I studied her face. She wasn’t lying.
Just careful.
She picked up a small cup and handed it to me. “Water first, then you can go take a shower.”
My hand shook when I grabbed it, and I hated that instantly.
The water hit my stomach, and my body cramped like it didn’t trust kindness anymore.
“Slow,” she said.
“I’m not fragile,” I muttered.
“I didn’t say you were,” she replied calmly.
Fair.
I leaned my head back into the pillow, staring at the tall windows across the room. Thick glass. Expensive curtains. Outside, I could see a trimmed garden and a stone path.
Beautiful.
Like a luxury prison.
My voice came out before I could stop it.
“Where’s Ares?”
The nurse paused for half a second.
“He returned to Los Angeles this morning.”
Something small tightened in my chest.
I ignored it.
“Oh,” I said flatly.
She adjusted the blanket. “You’ll be resting a lot. That’s normal. Your body needs time.”
“Great,” I muttered.
