The gash in my foot took seven stitches to close. I took each one with a silent demeanor as I dreamt of putting double in the face of the drug lord. The cuts in my knees still had glass in them and were more difficult to stay quiet through, and there were several times when I let out a tiny little ‘fuck’ as they poked and prodded the sore areas.
It took almost three hours before they were finally willing to release me. They said something about a possible concussion, but I ignored them as I clunked out of that damned place on the stupid crutches, they had given me.
Vie ran up to me anxious, looking me up and down taking in the bandages all over me.
“Holy shit, Bethany! Why didn’t you tell me?” she cried.
I looked down and shook my head. “Trust me when I say it looks worse than it really is.”