Novel & Cerita Broken Blood Vessels On Shoulders After Working Out

The sky above the cliff road was very blue and very still. I ran through the physical inventory: hands, arms, shoulders. Scraped. Left elbow had caught something on the way down. Right hip had taken the initial impact. Everything hurt in the specific way things hurt when the adrenaline is still active noted but not yet fully registered, the nervous system deferring the full report until later. Nothing broken. I sat up.

After washing my hands and trying to soothe the pain of my torn wrists in hot water, I look up at the mirror at my reflection. My makeup is smeared from my crying earlier and my eyes are red from my lack of sleep. I glance down at my arms, not leaving the mirrors image for a single second, and see the red marks from the cuffs. My shoulder aches as I turn to take in the rest of my body, and I clutch it. Yep Definitely out of place.

Each step closer just felt wrong, The closer I got, the more his expression tightened, his jaw clenched as if my presence was adding salt to his wound. I lowered myself onto the sofa beside his bed, setting the bowl down carefully. This had become my place over the past two days, watching him. I dipped the cloth into the water again, wringing it gently this time before leaning forward. His skin was warm, not the burning fever from before but not normal either. As I brushed the cloth across his forehead, my breath caught. The wound in his shoulder— It looked worse. Dark veins spread outward from it, crawling beneath his skin. They stretched toward his neck, his collarbone, his arms… like ligh

I woke up on the third day feeling like I had been hit by a truck. My left shoulder was a nasty shade of purple and yellow from the hit I took during the game. Every time I moved my arm, a sharp pain shot down to my elbow. I sat on the edge of the hotel bed, staring at my reflection in the long mirror on the closet door. My hair was a mess, and the bruise made me look like I’d actually been in a fight.

My shoulders feel stiff, but that’s from holding still too long. I pause at my left arm and roll the sleeve back out of habit. I’ve cleaned and dressed every injury I’ve had since arriving. I would have noticed something new. That certainty is still there when my fingers stop. There’s a faint line just below my inner elbow and it's darker than the rest of me, like something pressed from beneath rather than cut from above.

It glances off his chest with a hard thump. Instead of falling over, he pauses, then looks at me with murder in his eyes. Ares is in awful shape, but his anger is beyond feeling mortal pain. I try to secure my sword with both hands, but it’s impossible. My bad arm feels numb, but not numb like I would expect it to with a severe shoulder injury. I look down at my arm. Black veins are spreading down to my fingers. I crane my neck to see my shoulder. The edges of the wound are black and peeling away from my body.

He was standing near the bed, trying to pull his shirt off with one arm, and the movement made him wince so badly that he stopped halfway and just stood there with the fabric bunched around his neck. "Let me help." He turned around. "It's fine." "Your shoulder is clearly not fine." I walked into the room and closed the door behind me. "Sit down." "Lyra." "Sit. Down." He sat on the edge of the bed, and I carefully helped him pull the shirt over his head. The bruise on his left shoulder was deep and dark, spreading from the joint down toward his ribs in a pattern that told me something heavy had landed on him during the collapse. It wasn't broken, but the tissue damage was significant enough t

’ I examined my body. My leg wound was deep, and it would definitely leave a scar. The blood kept flowing. I was scared. I could die. The injury on my shoulder was still bleeding too. My T-shirt was soaked with sweat and blood. I felt so exhausted. I tugged at the ropes, pulling and twisting my wrists, but they were too tight. I winced each time my shoulder throbbed from moving. It's just a bit of pain. Nothing I can’t handle. My wrists were cut and bleeding, the ropes digging into my skin. I was breathing heavily, feeling nauseous, dizzy, and cold.

Money handled most problems, but even I knew some required containment. Maya was on her back, sprawled on the brickwork, the blue dress clinging to her like the skin of a fruit that had burst. Her right arm was stretched above her head, wrist bent at a sick, mathematically wrong angle, and the upper arm was a red, pulpy disaster, blood pouring in a gutter under her biceps. At the shoulder, three raking gashes met a chunk of meat that looked chewed rather than cut—six, maybe seven inches deep. I’d seen worse, but not much. Even through the adrenaline, the metallic stink had my own hackles up.

Shock has my body shaking and even as a vampire I am hurt, I know my shoulder needs fixing, it healed but in the wrong place. All I can think about is what the hell just happened, and why?