Page 32 of Celestial Combat

The hospital room suddenly felt suffocating, the walls closing in.

I didn’t remember anything useful. Not his face, not his voice – nothing. Except for that generic fucking snake tattoo on his neck.

But the pain in my ribs, the sting on my cheek, the awful blank space in my memory… It was all real.

And somewhere out there, he was still free.

The hospital room still smelled like disinfectant. Two days had passed, but time felt strange here, like I was trapped in an in-between place where the world moved on without me.

Across from me, the therapist sat with a clipboard balanced on her lap, a warm, practiced smile on her face. She was in her forties, maybe fifties, hair cut into a sharp bob, her glasses perched delicately on the tip of her nose.

She studied me like I was an equation she was still working to solve.

“How are you feeling today, Kali?” Her voice was soft, but I could hear the weight beneath it.

I sat up slowly, adjusting the stiff hospital pillows behind my back. The IV in my arm tugged slightly, and the dull ache in my ribs reminded me not to move too fast.

“Fine.”

“Physically or emotionally?”

I lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

She made a small note on her clipboard. “I know you must be feeling overwhelmed after what happened. But talking about it can help you process–”

“I don’t remember anything,” I cut in, my voice sharper than I intended. “Not much, anyway.”

She nodded, her face unreadable. “That’s understandable. Trauma can affect memory in different ways. Some details may come back to you over time. Some may not ever.”

Silence settled between us.

“Kali, before the incident, do you remember what you were doing that night?”

I exhaled through my nose, feeling the weight of the question pressing against my chest.

“I was at a club. I was dancing. Some guy bumped into me… I don’t know. I remember feeling bored. I remember wanting to go home. That’s it.”

“Were you drinking?”

My stomach twisted. “No.”

“Using anything?”

“No.” My jaw tightened. “I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t high. I didn’t do anything that night.”

Her gaze was steady, her fingers lightly gripping the pen in her hand. She didn’t argue, but she didn’t nod either.

“Okay,” She said simply, making another note.

I clenched my fists under the hospital blanket.

She didn’t believe me.

I could see it in the way she adjusted her glasses, in the way her expression didn’t change.

“That’s enough for today,” She finally said, setting the clipboard aside. “We’ll talk more when you’re ready.”

I gave her a stiff nod, turning my face toward the window as she gathered her things.

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