I yanked the drip from my hand, ignoring the sharp sting, and swung my feet over the edge of the bed. The cold floor met my bare feet as I stumbled toward the bathroom. Each step felt heavier, my mind reeling as the image of the mark burned into my thoughts.
Once inside, I flicked on the harsh fluorescent light and leaned toward the mirror. I pulled the hospital gown down further, just enough to see the mark clearly above the edge of my collarbone.
A half-moon.
Thick, dark, and so precise it seemed impossible.
I ran my fingers over it, feeling its slight rise against my skin. My breath came in shallow gasps.
What is this? How did it get there?
So many thoughts collided in my head, each one more frantic than the last. Was this connected to the pain I'd felt before passing out? To the strange visions of my mother?
I gripped the sink, my knuckles white.
And then, my phone rang.
