I FUCKING HATE HOSPITALS.

I mean, it’s not like most people like them. But ever since that night of blurred horrors and silent tears—the night Nina died—when I was brought to one, stunned, numb, naked, and wrapped in a paramedic’s jacket, I’ve fucking loathed them.

I think it’s the antiseptic smell that gets me, as if the building itself is trying to destroy anything living within its walls.

That chemical smell of bleach and rubbing alcohol that leaves your nostrils singed and your ...