Adamina wasn't sleeping.
She had been, dreamlessly, no doubt from a slew of medicinal St. Mungo's remedies. But as the last hour crept upon her, the dreamlessness had tapered away to leave her swimming in and out of consciousness. She fought against her awakening state, because if she only fell back asleep, there was a chance the horrors of her days past would reveal themselves to be nothing more than a grotesque dream.
She didn't fall back asleep.
Over that hour, she heard people speaking—perhaps medical staff, occasionally Bianca or Tim. Their voices were clear and sharp, when she wished that they would be fuzzy and dreamlike. She curled more tightly into the scratch bed linen, squeezing her eyes closed until her brow puckered. But when Bianca left, the silence was deafening, and Adamina preferred the voices, no matter how loud or clear or sharp they would be.
She opened her eyes and was greeted by white tile. It was the first time in what felt like years that she had seen something other than dank darkness. When her gaze travelled lower, she saw the pronounced bump of her stomach and lifted an aching arm slowly to run her hand down it. Quite unexpectedly, her eyes filled, and she forced them closed to wring out the tears. As she raised that aching arm further to dash away the rest of the tears, her gaze fell on Tim, whose back was to her. He stared out the window, which obscured his reflection, but his stance looked tense.
She gave herself one moment to fall apart before rustling the sheets and making stirring noises. Her eyes blinked slowly and when she swallowed before saying, "You're far away," the thickness to her voice wasn't in the least put on.
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