Her eyes were gritty and burning, and her throat felt tight. When she reached for her crutches to make her way to the loo, she felt like she was carrying around the lead apron they used for X-rays. Steve rolled over to face her as she hefted herself back into bed and pulled the covers up. ‘You must have slept better,’ he said, ‘no nightmares.’ A statement, not a question. ‘Yeah, better thanks,’ she lied. If she used fewer words it wouldn’t feel so bad. She really didn’t like lying to Steve, but she also didn’t want him worrying. He didn’t need to know she’d woken maybe a dozen times through the night, gripped with fear, her heart racing. And if she’d managed to keep from tossing and turning and waking him up, well, so much the better. He was too busy to be dragging around tired eyes and weary bones. She just hoped the heaviness in her own eyes wouldn’t be as bad as she feared it might look in the bright light of day. Snippets of her dreams filtered into her consciousness.
