Maddox's Pov:
The first thing I felt was the pain, white-hot and everywhere, like my body had been fed through a meat grinder and spat out wrong.
My wrist throbbed in its cast, a dull, relentless drumbeat that matched the pulse in my swollen jaw.
Every breath pulled at cracked ribs; every twitch sent fire through my bruised organs.
I tried to sit up and the room spun with fluorescent lights stabbing into my skull. I'm at the hospital, ofcourse.
The sterile smell of antiseptic and bleach hit me next, followed by the low hum of machines and the distant murmur of voices.
Trent was in the bed beside mine, his face a purple mess of bruises and bandages with one eye swollen shut.
He looked smaller than I remembered, like the beating had deflated him. Kylie sat on a plastic chair between us, legs crossed, scrolling her phone with the kind of calm that only sociopaths can fake.
