Pulsating Shoulder Blade Pain Mga Nobela at Kwento

* 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.

My ribs throb with a dull ache every time I inhale, a lingering echo of the punch that knocked the wind out of me. I try to move, but my body feels too heavy, swollen, and foreign. Pain radiates through my face, throughout my whole body. I grab my left arm still on an arm sling. My tongue pushes against the wires in my mouth, tasting the coppery hint of blood and antiseptic. And then I see her.

It pulsed slowly, like my body was determined to remind me of every choice I’d made the night before. Then everything else chimed in. My thighs burned when I shifted even a fraction. My back felt stiff, my shoulders sore like I’d held myself too tight for too long, and my neck— “Fuck,” I muttered. I lifted a hand and brushed my fingers along the side of my throat, and the second I touched it, pain shot enough to knock the air from my lungs. It wasn’t slicing or stabbing, it was just a deep pulse that radiated outward, like the bruise had sunk its roots into my skin.

Pain flared sharply through me, sending a jolt of discomfort up my arm. “Are you nuts?” I shouted, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and disbelief as I glared at him. But he didn’t even bother to look back. He sauntered off casually, leaving me seething in his wake. I cursed under my breath, my teeth clenched tightly as the sting of humiliation and pain lingered. I considered returning to my room, but the increasing pain in my shoulder told me that ignoring it would only make matters worse. If I didn’t have it checked immediately, it could escalate into something more serious.

Louder than the hum of the single flickering bulb that buzzes like a dying insect above my head. I am hunched over the wooden table, my forehead resting on the cool surface, slick with my own cold sweat. My right arm is stretched out, pinned down like a butterfly in a display case. The pain isn't intense anymore. It has grown. It is a living, breathing thing. It throbs in time with my heartbeat, a heavy, sickening pulse that travels from my hand up my arm, exploding into my shoulder and neck. Every beat of my heart pumps more blood out, sending a fresh wave of agony through my fried nerves.

“I am perfectly fine. It doesn't even hurt that bad, I was just putting some befitting reaction to it.” “So you agree you were over-exaggerating?” If I could throw my hands, I'd probably threw them at the keeper. “Luna, your shoulder will turn massively huge and red soon if we don't shift it in place.” Before I could reply, I felt a pain like a giant boulder hitting my shoulder from within and I screamed. But that pain was over just as soon as it started, leaving only a smaller pain and weakness behind. I looked right beside me to see my mate rubbing gently over the spot with a grin.

My heartbeat falls into rhythmic pulses of pain, stretching out in a sharp stabbing pain. “ Olivia,” my lips parted in a shallow gasps.

I slowly reached a hand to my back. Near my shoulder blade, there was a faint, almost invisible old scar.

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.

I lay in a mangled heap and grasp for air, mouth opening and body trying, but I’m like a fish out of water. Unable to do anything at all except whine under my breath, and claw weakly at the dirt around me, trying like crazy to inflate my lungs even an inch. My shoulder’s wet from a severe set of puncture wounds that extend up onto the side of my neck, and I know it’s probably my jugular that’s making the flow so intense. The throbbing coming from there, in time to my low and weak heartbeat, pulsing out my blood with every thud.