The moment we get back from the hospital, I go upstairs.
Not quickly enough to look dramatic, not slowly enough to invite conversation either. Just direct. The kind of movement that makes it obvious I have no intention of stopping anywhere along the way.
I can feel Bael behind me while we walk through the entrance hall, close enough that the awareness of him sits between my shoulder blades the entire time, but I don't look back once.
By the time I reach my room and close the door behind me, my chest already feels tight again.
The prescription bag sits on the small table beside the bed after I toss it there carelessly. I change clothes slowly, pulling on softer pants and one of the loose sweaters I've basically stolen permanently from the back of the closet because the fabric doesn't press uncomfortably anywhere.
My back still aches faintly, but not badly enough for medication yet.
I stare at the white paper bag for a second.
Then I look away from it deliberately.
