Meanwhile in Laws Bedroomβ¦
A stack of medical books, a jumble of charts, and half-filled notebooks litter my desk, their edges crumpled and worn from constant use. Piles of paper spill out, some with hastily scrawled notes, others with precise annotations Iβve made over hours of research. I lean forward in my chair, elbows digging into the cluttered surface, my back curved in a way that sends a dull ache shooting down my spine. The dim light from my desk lamp casts long, harsh shadows across my face, making my expression look even more strained and tired than it feels.
My eyes are locked on the medical text in front of me, my gaze flickering between lines of dense, scientific jargon. I try to absorb every word, every detail, but the words blur together as fatigue begins to cloud my mind. My brow furrows, pushing my concentration further, yet I can feel the weight of exhaustion creeping in. Every few seconds, I find myself blinking hard to stay focused, as if fighting against a tide of sleep.
Just when I start to think Iβve got the hang of it, a sharp pang in my back pulls me from the haze of my work. I wince, shifting in the chair, stretching my arms high above my head. The satisfying crack of my spine echoes in the quiet room, a brief release from the tension Iβve been holding for far too long. But the relief is fleeting, my body instantly protesting the movement, reminding me how cramped I've become in this one position.
My eyes shift instinctively toward the clock on the wall, the numbers glowing dimly in the near-darkness. The realization hits me with the force of a hammer.
βDamn, 3 a.m...β I mutter under my breath, half in disbelief, half in frustration. How had the time slipped away so quickly?
The room around me feels smaller than usual, the cramped space heavy with the scent of old coffee.