The hospital corridor has walls the color of a Creamsicle. The longer I stare at them, the more the color swirls into peach and beige and maybe some yellow. I’ve been staring at them for a long time because the Nazi nurse at the desk won’t let me in to see Declan, and I’m not leaving. She glares at me once in a while, maybe to let me know she’s still watching. I glare back.
Two days, and Declan is still unconscious.
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