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The ride to the hospital felt endless. The car was quiet except for the sound of the engine and my own ragged breathing. I kept staring out the window, watching the world blur by, my heart pounding in my chest. Part of me wanted to scream and beg Uncle Tony to turn around, to just take me home where I could pretend this was all just a bad dream. But deep down, I knew I couldn't hide from this anymore.
As we arrived at the hospital, a sense of dread washed over me. The sterile smell of antiseptic and the faint beeping of machines made my stomach churn. I felt like I was walking into a trap, and every step I took toward the entrance made me more anxious.
"Blair, we're here," Uncle Tony said gently, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze as we walked inside. I nodded but didn't meet his eyes. I felt like a coward.
I could tell Uncle Tony was barely holding it together, struggling not to let his anger show.
Once we checked in, the nurse led us to an exam room, and I was instructed to sit on the paper-covered table. I fidgeted with my hands, glancing around the small room filled with medical posters and equipment that looked like it was straight out of a horror movie. I could feel Uncle Tony's eyes on me, waiting for me to say something, but I didn't know what to say.
A few moments later, the doctor entered—a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a gentle smile. "Hi, Blair. I'm Dr. Harris. Let's take a look at that eye of yours," he said, pulling on a pair of gloves.
I sat there, feeling small under his gaze. "It's not that bad," I mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
Dr. Harris smiled kindly. "Let's see what we're working with, okay?" He approached me and tilted my head slightly, examining the bruise around my eye closely.
"Did you experience any pain other than the bruise? Any headaches, dizziness, or trouble seeing?" he asked, his tone professional yet warm.
I shook my head, even though I felt a wave of nausea rolling through me. "No. I just... tripped," I said, trying to sound convincing.
"Tripped, huh?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, it looks like you have a pretty significant contusion here. It's bruised and swollen, which can happen from a fall, but I'm also concerned about the possibility of a concussion."
I felt my heart drop at his words. "A concussion?" I repeated, panic rising in my chest.
"Let's not jump to conclusions just yet. We'll need to do a few tests to make sure everything is alright," he said, trying to reassure me. "I'll need you to follow my finger with your eyes."
As he moved his finger back and forth, I focused on it, my mind racing. I couldn't let anything be wrong. I couldn't let anyone know what really happened. If I didn't say anything, maybe this would all go away.
"Okay, good," Dr. Harris said, and I felt a small relief wash over me. "Now, I'm going to need you to touch your nose with your right hand, then your left. Can you do that for me?"
