Dull Ache Under Left Shoulder Blade の小説・ストーリー

But there's a trail on her left cheek that catches the light from the fire service vehicles, and every few minutes she presses the back of her wrist against it quickly, automatically, the way you'd wipe away sweat without breaking concentration, and then she goes straight back to what she's doing. I don't say anything about it. I barely breathe in case she notices and stops. "Tell me when this hurts," she says, and does something to the shoulder that makes my vision white out briefly. "That hurts," I say. "Good." She doesn't sound sorry. "You have a partial dislocation. Possibly a hairline fracture at the acromioclavicular joint, but I can't confirm without imaging." Her hands move again, ge

CIARA The pain in my shoulder woke me up. It was a sharp, deep ache that made it hard to even drag air into my lungs, and every time I tried to shift my weight, my limbs felt completely pinned down against the mattress. Right next to my head, a heart monitor was beeping too fast, the loud rhythm making my skull throb.

DAMIEN. I lay flat on the cold wooden floorboards. My right shoulder hung two inches lower than my left. The joint was completely out of its socket. The muscle throbbed with a steady, intense ache. I needed to fix it immediately. I grabbed the thick fabric of my shirt sleeve between my teeth. I clamped my jaws down hard. I pushed my back flat against the solid oak bed frame to gain leverage. I gripped my injured right wrist with my left hand. I pulled my arm forward and twisted the limb sharply to the left.

Well, sort of. "Your left shoulder is stiff," I say. "I can feel the limitations in how you move. I can't believe your fancy Dr. Tom hasn't caught this; you should've been doing physio this entire time, and something tells me you haven't." I move around him to give him a stern glare, using my best disappointed doctor voice.

The cool water soothes the dryness, and I take a few greedy sips, feeling it trickle down my throat, grounding me. “Thank you,” I murmur, my voice hoarse, and Camden swallows, his gaze never leaving mine. “Are you all right?” he asks, and I blink, struggling to focus, to assess the strange numbness in my arm. I try to flex the fingers of my left hand, but there’s a sharp, throbbing pain, like something’s caught. My heart sinks as I realize something’s wrong. “My shoulder—” I whisper, fear creeping back in.

day with Delia. "You're hitting it like it owes you money, Alexa," I said, leaning against the door-frame with a towel draped over my shoulder. "But you're dropping your left shoulder. One smart counter-punch from a man like Moretti’s hitters, and you’re looking at a wired jaw." She stopped mid-swing, chest heaving. She didn't look at me. She just stared at the bag. "My jaw is fine, Uncle. My left shoulder is just stiff from the shrapnel."

The ache in my body was a slow, stubborn burn that flared with every breath. I hissed as I peeled the blankets away and forced myself to sit up. My ribs protested immediately, sending jagged pulses through my side. I touched the bandage just under my arm and winced. Nothing was broken, they’d said, but my body hadn’t gotten the memo.

my question died down in my throat as I felt a sharp pricking pain in my left shoulder. Dizziness hit me as the pain in my shoulder increased. I looked down at it and found blood slowly building at the spot. I looked back up at Chris as my legs weakened and my vision blurred –Annabeth had come through with her threat.

* She paused, taking stock of her various – *numerous­ ­*– aches and pains. Her shoulder blades were sore from where she’d laid pressed against the tub’s porcelain floor for too long. She grimaced – so was her back. Her wrists were on fire, and she’d bet her breakfast that she was sporting some gnarly bruises around her wrists, and – she moved a foot – *yep!*, around her ankles, too.

Aria The pain in my shoulder had dulled from a sharp, stabbing agony to a persistent throb by that evening. Dr. Edward insisted that I stay in bed, but the moment he left me, I started to move. I winced as I pulled a loose sweater over my head, careful to avoid jostling my bandaged shoulder. The wound was healing—werewolf regeneration ensuring I wouldn’t be out of commission for long—but the area around the entry point remained tender. Every movement sent a spasm of discomfort through my left side.