Why Does My Eye Feel Bruised When I Blink Novels & Stories

He walks towards us, searching me with his eyes. "Yes, sir. She got thrown on the ground pretty hard and is in pain." Blake answered for me, standing up and moving beside me. "Well, let's take a look." He sits in the chair in front of me, checking my joints and muscles. He hums. "There's just a slight bruising in your side. You almost sprained your ankle, but not quite. And you might have a small concussion." He concludes as he sits back to examine my eyes. "Will she need anything?" Blake asks, concern lacing his tone.

Venice, Italy, 4 AM "She passed out from the shock of what happened," Kennedy released Claire's wrist after applying ointment to her bruises. "How about her eyes? Is she okay?” Mikael stared intently at Claire, trying to ensure that tonight's incident didn't affect Claire's sensitive corneas. “I'm not an ophthalmologist, but it doesn't seem like her eyes have any problems. Her eyes were bloodshot because she was still sensitive to light.” Kennedy—his personal doctor, explained calmly.

Roy tries to open his eye; however, he struggles due to the merciless sunlight, a blaze that pierces through his eyelids like needles. He squints, then rapidly blinks, his eyelashes fluttering like broken shutters against the glare. Beneath him, he can feel the gravel biting into his cheek and palms, jagged, sharp and bloody. His cheek stings as he lifts his head slightly to relieve the pressure, and his palm throbs with a dull ache, as if it’s been scraped raw. There’s blood, but not enough to explain the pain.

All the moans from the pain left me panting for air, with only the ventilator to keep me from suffocating. Suddenly, the ventilator stopped, and the air purification machine beside me stopped, plunging my surroundings into silence. Without the ventilator's help, my breathing grew rapid, and my pain grew even more intense. With the air purification system shut down, the supposedly sterile room was now no different from any other location. The surgery to remove eyeballs was an extremely risky procedure, and without proper environmental conditions, an infection would be inevitable. A confused voice rang out from outside. "The power's out! What happened?"

But during my trance, the pupil changes from a circle to a cone, which is the window through which the light enters, the intensity of the light. “Wouldn't it be a shame to lose the sea if it were only perfect on land?” Bewitched by the sound, I reached out and pressed on his eyelids. There is not only a thin layer of eyelids, but eyelids also wrapped under a layer of smooth thin, then the thin piece was gently pulled down by me.

My whole body hurts as I drag myself out of bed and in to the bathroom. I flip on the light and immediately wish I hadn't looked in the mirror. My eyes are swollen and puffy, with dark purple circles underneath them that look almost like bruises. No amount of concealer is going to hide this damage. My skin looks pale and blotchy, like I've been sick. I look like I've spent the entire night crying, even though I haven't shed a single tear. I've just been thinking. Thinking and worrying and trying to make sense of everything.

She speaks again and I open my eyes slowly. A soft sigh leaves me and I slowly sit up. "Thank you." I say still not looking at her because I know my eyes are swollen from all the crying. "You're welcome, ma'am. Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes. I will be back to get you." She says before leaving and shutting the door behind her. I throw the covers off my body and get up, not wanting to get into trouble for taking too long. With what I saw last night, the lack of humanity in that man's eyes, I'm pretty sure he would just kill me on the spot if I didn't do what he says.

But the fear for his life is a physical weight that suffocates me. Pushing myself up into a sitting position, a fresh wave of tears threatens to fall. My eyes feel severely swollen, throbbing with a dull, rhythmic ache. They are still deeply bruised and recovering from Darius’s heavy punches, and the crying has only made the inflammation agonizingly worse.

I look into the bathroom mirror and see the face of a sullen, unfamiliar woman looking back at me. My usual latte skin is now pale and sickly, my eyes are puffy and bloody shot, only made worse by the intense bruising that instead of bruising around the gash across my stitched-up forehead, has chosen to travel down and bruise all over my right eye. I don’t think there’s a cosmetic company around that makes this shade of purple. My lip is crusty, split and still a bit swollen along with the right side of my face. It’s strange though. It’s as though how I’m feeling on the inside is perfectly reflected on my face: beaten, bruised, split open and drained.

I blink and I wince, even my face freaking hurts. I try to straighten myself but I can't get myself to move a muscle. Everything aches. I groan as I bring my hand up to rub my face. It stops midway as I notice that it's no longer tied. My eyebrows pull together as I notice a bandage covering the length of my arm. Confusion seeps through me as I bring my other arm and notice that it's the same. I touch my face and feel the bandages covering the once bruised part of it.