@cahstle
it’s a lot of noise. she’s never liked hospitals, the machines, the nurses, the doctors. other patients, the lights, the smells. she only gave birth in them because she wasn’t too fond of the mess it made. it’s a passing thought, to the babies, and she shuts her eyes tight against the tears, because they’re gone. they tried to tell her some self-serving story about how they died instantly but maria knows better. she heard them. she squeezes her eyes tighter, focusing on the beeping of some machine, so her mind doesn’t replay those sounds.
the plastic of her hospital bracelet is biting into her arm, and she twists it, trying to get it to stop itching, irritating. her chest hurts, like a bruise every time she breathes, and yanking the collar of the hospital gown down reveals a row of stitches, thick and black against her skin.
it’s late at night, and the usual noise and commotion is no more. the hospital is dark, a few nurses on the floor, and she’s focused on the blanket, of all things, itchy and scratchy, thin, useless. she can’t get comfortable on this thin mattress, the one that makes noises when she moves. she doesn’t see the shadow coming into her room, and she almost makes a startled noise, until he ducks into the soft light above her bed.
‘ frank.. ‘
