Blood Sweat And Heels Cast Novels & Stories

“Damn it! I asked you many times. Look at this, now!” “Your Majesty!” Ruri also ended up shouting at him. “You're bleeding!” She walked over spontaneously, but Rohan stopped her. “Don't come any closer.” "But," Sashal sat awkwardly as Rohan kept mumbling to himself, commenting on the condition of his feet, which were swollen at the surface of the feet, and bleeding at the heel and ankle. Seeing the blood that appeared due to scratches on her Achilles heel, no wonder she felt pain as if there were thousands of ants tearing that part. And what's worse, his feet swelled. It looked blue and purplish like it wasn't getting any blood flow.

ALPHA CADEN'S POV The taste of blood had become so familiar that I no longer reacted whenever it filled my mouth. I leaned forward over the edge of my bed and allowed another stream of dark blood to spill into the silver basin the healers had placed beside me days ago. My chest rose and fell unevenly as another violent cough forced its way through my throat, sending fresh pain across my ribs until I had to grip the edge of the mattress to steady myself. The room smelled heavily of herbs, incense, and medicine, yet none of them had succeeded in slowing whatever was happening inside my body.

"I'm okay, really. I just need some aspirin." "Humor him, Ms. Vance," the doctor sighed, reaching for my cast. He checked the circulation in my toes, pressing down on the skin to see how fast the color returned. "The swelling is going down, but you need to keep this elevated. If you keep sitting upright like this, the blood is going to pool." Alexander watched the doctor’s hands like a hawk. If the doctor moved too fast or pressed too hard, I could see Alexander’s jaw tighten, his eyes flashing with a protective hunger that made my stomach flip. He couldn't move, he couldn't stand, but he was still guarding me.

Every time the rusted springs of the mattress shift, an intense agony shoots up my broken leg, radiating from the fractured tibia that is currently held together by nothing but sheer will and a messy layer of gauze beneath my split plaster cast. Yanking that IV out at St. Jude’s had been a mistake. My veins feel like they’re filled with battery acid, and my forehead is slick with a cold, feverish sweat. But we had no choice. Zayn would have torn me apart in that hospital bed if I’d stayed any longer. He would have found me.

That light was too pure and bright, revealing me for who I was. The filth churning inside me was something detestable and loathsome. It was so overwhelming that I did not dare to touch it. After it happened a few times, Ethan developed stomach problems. When I was not paying attention, he would endure the pain silently with his brows tightly furrowed. He was too afraid to let me find out and never told me. It was not until one morning, after staying up all night to care for me, that he fainted from the pain at his office. That was when I realized just how severe his condition had become.

Still, with routine came adaptation. The third week was the worst: the itching under the cast was unbearable. I counted the days until my hospital visit to finally have it removed and take a proper shower—without relying on wipes for my foot. «I swear my feet smell.» When the day finally arrived, I felt like I was floating. Figuratively, of course—jumping was still strictly forbidden. «Goodbye, dead weight. Hello, soap on the sole of my foot.»

She owed it to herself and to her baby. Then the doctor asked about her ankle. "How's the ankle feeling?" "It's itchy, but I can't get to it through the cast to scratch and it's driving me a little crazy," Camden replied, eyeing out the cast with a hint of annoyance. "That's usually a good sign. It indicates that it's healing. I want to give you another day in the cast, then I think we can move you over to the boot. You'll have to walk on crutches though for a while." Camden nodded in understanding. At least there was some progress on that front.

I feel like I am suffocating. “Can I be discharged now?” I ask the doctor, who looks at him. Maybe he will leave me with Lady Margaret and others when we are in his castle. I miss them. “Her blood pressure is stable, Sire. She can start using crutches. The arm cast will come out in six weeks, and the leg in twelve weeks,” the doctor addresses him. “Crutches are too dangerous for her. She is a hothead and will try be independent. She will slip and fall. Get her a wheelchair instead.”

Venom said quietly Once she heard a set of receding footsteps, Olivia struggled to a sitting position, she winced at the sudden pain that jabbed at her, if sitting up required this much effort, she wondered how painful it would be to walk to the bathroom, she held on to frame of the bed and tested her right foot on the ground She lifted her left leg to the ground and the pain intensified, as she rose to her feet, she staggered backwards and fell to the ground, she winced in pain as blood seeped through the cast.

Gently applying pressure, I pressed down on her foot, causing blood to gush out. She winced slightly but remained unconscious. Approaching the iron mat, I squatted before it. It was still covered in blood. I reached out my elbow, allowing the needles to pierce into it, since my hands were covered in gloves. I watched as my blood flowed, mixing with hers. As I waited for healing to take place, I grew concerned. It usually took me less than ten seconds to heal completely, yet now, the process was significantly slower. If I didn't look closely, I wouldn't notice that I was healing at all.