Knock. Knock.
Heather stirred, eyes slowly fluttering open. Her entire body felt like it had been run over by a truck. Everything ached, from her head to her toes.
But worst of all was her arm—it throbbed sharply when she tried to move, as if it had been twisted the wrong way in her sleep.
She was still lying on her side when she heard a muffled voice from outside the door.
"Oh, it's not locked," the voice said, followed by the gentle creak of the door opening.
"Heather?" Penny's voice came next, full of concern. She rushed to her side and knelt beside her. "Are you alive?"
In response, Heather raised her middle finger weakly.
Penny sighed with relief. "Okay, she's alive."
"Are you okay?" she asked.
Heather groaned and slowly pushed herself up. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and her mouth was dry as sand.
She dragged her fingers through her tangled hair and pulled it back. She didn't need a mirror to know she looked awful.
