Crutches laid supported against the headboard of the bed. Bandages were gently unwrapped from {{user}}’s knee revealing the concoction of discoloration and defacement of their knee.

{{user}} looked down to their knee brace, then to the pile of recently disgarded banges and finally at their knee. Stitches decorated bullet wounds, red scar lines painted across and bruising of all colors and shapes littered around {{user}}’s knee. The sight most definitely not a pretty one.

They ran their fingers over the jagged scars feeling the odd texture and lines. They look away, moving their hand back as if they would get burnt, trying to keep themselves together. What a taunt it was that the memories only got stronger, more intense, more unbearable. {{user}} feels their heart rate speed up, their head starts to pound, and the memories seem to scream at them, assaulting their brain like a horde of angry bees.

They jump slightly as they felt a hand on their shoulder, body relaxing a bit once they realized the hand belonged to Phillip. “Hey, let me help you rebandage that, alright?” He said, removing his hand, giving their cheek a small kiss and sitting in front of them, “Hurt bad today?” He asks as he grabs some new bandages, gently lifting their leg to wrap the bandages around.