Writing Injuries Novels & Stories

“The baby is unharmed.” A deep breath whooshed out of me, and my entire body sagged with relief. Dorian, who had been standing silently by the door, exhaled sharply, as if he had been holding his breath, too. “But,” the doctor continued, shifting his focus to my injuries, “you have multiple abrasions on your body, and the burn on your hand has worsened due to a secondary infection.” He gently turned my wrist, inspecting the angry red wound. “You need to be extra careful. The area must stay dry, or it will take longer to heal and could cause complications.”

Grunting in frustration, I slam my head deeper into the pillow and close my eyes again. Surprisingly when I bring my hands up to rub my face, I find that I’m not chained to the bed, so I painfully sit up. Taking a glance down at my body I start taking stock of all of my injuries. My arms, stomach, and legs are scratched up but nothing too bothersome, just an annoyance. The stab wound in my leg is the biggest injury I sustained, but thanks to my advance healing it has already healed enough that I can walk with a bit of a limp. Just the mere thought of yesterday ignites my temper. Some Amato I got stuck with. He freaking threw me through a window! I mean, come on! He could have just tackled me

he says softly sitting on his chair and picking up a white paper. " According to the test we've run on her till now, she has suffered genital injuries, her left shoulder is dislocated, her left ankle is broken, three ribs are broken, the right wrist is broken, severe head injury, and her right arm is also fractured. There are multiple stabs on her thighs and abdomen which can be made from a dagger or sharp object."

Instead, she turned to Lucas calmly and said, "Yeah." Lucas was surprised that she was so unfazed. Anyone with coagulation disorders would be in trouble if any injuries they suffered weren't attended to in time. Besides, if anyone knew they had such a condition, they would try their best to avoid getting injured. He got up to get some different medication and soon returned. His expression was serious. His professionalism was acting up. As he tended to Lucille's wound, he asked grimly, "Why did you allow yourself to get hurt if you were aware of your condition?"

Although I was mad at him for choosing Diana over me, for leaving me alone in a place where I only had Cathy with me, we were both adults, and it was impossible not to be affected by his body. I had to keep reminding myself of the doctor’s warning. He was injured. He shouldn’t do strenuous activities, or his stitches might be undone. Although he was an Alpha werewolf, it didn’t mean his wounds would magically heal in an hour, or that he didn’t need medical attention, or that he wouldn’t feel any pain. But as my fingers roamed over his arms and torso, especially how his muscles flexed beneath my touch, I found it hard for me to focus on just washing him.

"I did." "Sit." The physician obeyed. Dean wasted no time. "Tell me about her injuries." The old healer unfolded one of the reports. "The scars across her back are extensive, but they concern me less than the injuries beneath them." Dean's eyes narrowed. "Beneath them?" "The muscle damage." He placed the report on the table. "Many wounds healed improperly because they were never treated." Dean remained silent. "There are signs that her shoulders were repeatedly dislocated over several years." His jaw tightened.

"Student continues practicing despite bleeding feet. Must be forced to rest." I read the sentence twice, then a third time. My eyes remained on that sentence. Until her feet bleed. Another page. A recommendation for rest after repeated injuries. I continued through hospital records stretching across several years. Sprained ankles. High fevers. A fractured wrist. A mild concussion. Every injury came with an explanation that sounded reasonable on paper.

"No, impossible... Ray Luther, that's impossible..." Wendy murmured, her voice filled with despair. I ignored her and turned to leave with the medical staff's support. In the private hospital, the doctor examined my injury carefully. He informed me that while I had narrowly escaped worse, I would not be able to hold a pen with my right hand for several months. Looking at my neatly bandaged hand, the excruciating pain from that day resurfaced. Internally, I vowed: I would never let Chad and Wendy off the hook.

He asked me in confusion and my breath hitched again. This time, I was completely confused. He was now standing beside the study table again. “Your treating doctor and the school nurse have submitted a certificate stating that your injuries need time to heal, and with your shoulder and face injuries, it will be better if you don’t write for a week at least. So, they talked and decided to let teachers give you marks for your assignments based on your previous works.” He explained calmly, still standing there with my assignment folder in his hand. I was glued to the door, still processing what he said.

"A she-wolf must never question Alpha decisions." The handwriting evolved across the pages – from awkward, shaky letters to a refined right-handed script that looked nothing like Natalie's natural left-handed flow. They had forced her to write with her non-dominant hand, hour after hour, day after day. My battery dropped to 8%. I quickly opened the medical records Zack had uncovered. Ten years of documented injuries. Burns. Lacerations. Fractured ribs. Concussions. At twelve years old, immediately after her parents' deaths, she had been hospitalized for injuries consistent with a severe beating. The pattern continued, with hospital visits cleverly spaced to avoid suspicion.