110
Bethany's POV
Hospitals are strange places. They smell like antiseptic and bad decisions, and everyone walks around with that hushed, cautious tone like they're afraid to wake the dead. Maybe it's just the painkillers messing with my head, but I swear the ceiling tiles are mocking me. The fluorescent light hums above, making my head throb, but at least it's not Mason's voice ringing in my ears. Small mercies.
I shift in the bed, wincing as my ribs protest the movement. The bruises are deep, ugly. I haven't bothered looking in a mirror, but judging from the way the nurses won't meet my eyes for too long, I must look like hell.
Good.
Maybe Mason will see the damage next time he decides to put his hands on me. Maybe it'll haunt him. Maybe it won't. He's probably already moved on, too busy playing king to care that I'm lying here, trying not to breathe too hard because my ribs feel like they might cave in.