Nerve Wreck Novels & Stories

“Her reflexes are gone. The muscle response is minimal.” Annie wiped her eyes. “I’m never going to walk again, am I?” “Don’t say that,” Samuel said firmly, moving to kneel beside her chair. “We’ll figure this out.” “But Layla said—” “Layla said it’s a setback,” he corrected. “Setbacks can be overcome.” I wanted to share his optimism, but the reality was harsh. Witherbone Powder didn’t just cause temporary paralysis—it could cause permanent nerve damage if enough accumulated in the system.

Because deep down, he knew he kind of deserved it. He poured himself a generous amount of whiskey, watching the amber liquid swirl in the glass. Then he downed it in one long gulp, letting it burn all the way down. It didn’t fix anything, but at least it numbed a bit of the shame. Jeremiah had barely made it back to his estate. He crashed onto the leather couch, groaning as the cushions pressed against his bruises. “What the hell is wrong with me?” he muttered. He looked like shit. His face was swollen, his shirt torn, his ribs ached like hell. His body was a wreck, nose probably broken, eye swollen shut.

William said impatiently with the results received by the doctor after chevking up Nara. "Motor nerve damage due to accident to the madam Nara causes reduced motor strength from mild to heavy or complete motor paralysis. Healing or recovery of neurological function depending on the degree of deterioration. And I think her nervous system still gives her great hope. There's no broken bone in her leg, just a slight damage to her rear muscle system that affects the nerve in her leg." "The nervous system can be stimulated in several ways, including physical exercises that suit the nerve function. We will be conducting a physiotherapy to restore muscle strength and limb function," said the middle-

My whole body shook as I stood against the window looking out at the street. I’d fucked up my life, ended it for all intents and purposes, and yet still, in my purgatory, I could still wreak havoc on others. Stuck in limbo, I didn’t think things could get worse, yet they had. It seemed rock bottom had many levels, and I had reached an all-time low. What the fuck was the purpose of my life other than destruction?

“You had us scared, Brooks. Real scared.” The door opened and a team of doctors filed in—neurologist, cardiologist, the surgeon who’d operated on Callan. Their expressions were too careful. The kind doctors wore when they were about to deliver news that would change everything. “Mr. Walker,” the neurologist began, pulling up a stool. “The experimental compounds you were exposed to have caused significant neurological damage. We’ve run extensive scans. There’s scarring on the pathways that the link used to amplify. Your autonomic nervous system is unstable. The withdrawal isn’t just uncomfortable anymore—it’s dangerous. Your collapse yesterday was a combination of extreme stress, dehydration,

I kind of wish my subconscious would knock my ass out and make me forget. They’d had to do surgery on her again. By now the poor girl was half way to robot with all the pins and rods and screws she had. She had broken her ankle in the wreck .. or .. we think that’s when it happened. They had to put a pin in it. Now both her legs had them. Her kneecap had been busted. She had a concussion, her tailbone had a crack in it. If this wasn’t so serious I could make a fucking joke at that.

he asked, his voice filled with genuine care. The doctor regarded him and nodded, acknowledging Viaan’s concern. “Mr. Adams, I won’t mince words. This nerve disorder stems from the impact he sustained during the recent stroke,” he explained. “You’ve been to see him; he briefly regained consciousness, but unfortunately, his nervous system has been significantly affected by the concussion. He slipped back into unconsciousness.” He looked at Viaan and then at Victor and Leo.

I repeatedly clenched my fists, desperate to control my frayed nerves, but control eluded me. Trembling, I forced myself up and walked over to the DVD player. I ejected the case and set it down heavily in front of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I didn't bother to brush them away. Instead, I let them fall freely, my gaze fixed bitterly on the tape—a horror witnessed by no one else except the masked perpetrator and the cameraman. Even after tearing Ma's life away, they had forced me to watch, deliberately scarring me for the rest of my days. The tape is why I am the way I am. It’s a reminder and my own secret guilt for a crime I had no part of.

I replied with a heavy heart. I asked anxiously, “Doctor, will Kester’s legs able to recover?” The chief orthopedist looked solemn. “At that moment, it’s uncertain. Mr. Helsen central nerve system has suffered a severe damage. In the medical field, the nerve system is the most difficult to heal.” I felt like I had been plunged into an ice abyss upon hearing this. “What are the chance of cure?”

I heard how shaky and unsure I sounded. The man didn’t reply. He didn’t acknowledge what I had just said. All he did was grumble. The sound vibrated as he got closer to me. I waited to try to steel my nerves unsuccessfully. The closer he got, the clearer I could hear the sound of my fractured nerve screaming run. The man grumbled again as his head slumped at an awkward angle to the left. I could smell something foul on him. Sand. Not sand exactly; dirt. There was something else. Blood. Blood and- death.