I slumped on the couch after physio, still in my black sports bra—damp and clinging to my full chest—and loose gray sweatpants pooling at my limp ankles.
My body ached from the useless session; no progress, legs still dead weight. I don't know what will happen to my legs—they aren't working at all. Mia did say something on the lines of being patient and hopeful, but I am scared.
I grabbed the remote, flicked on the TV, and curled into a half-sleeping sprawl, bare feet tucked under soft cushions, pink-polished toes idle, my sweaty raven ponytail falling loose.
The screen showed a business interview—my cheap dad Viktor, my cheap mom Elena, and my cheap stepbrother Alexei standing together in sharp suits, smirking with fake unity. They were all bad people who hated me—I hated them right back, those liars and poisoners. I hate them too much!
