I don't know how many days I locked myself in my room. I might even have missed my parents' funeral. I feel like I don't want to do anything other than sleep and try to move my right hand, which is now starting to move if I move it slowly. It still feels a bit stiff, but much better than it was back then. The bandage that covered my wound has now been removed. There's only a small wound that I feel will go away after some time.
It's just, it's just…
"I can't cook like I used to..."
I sighed softly. I looked at the nightstand filled with food and drink that Beth seemed to have secretly prepared for me while I was asleep. Even though he knew I hadn't touched anything other than the drink he prepared, he still brought it for me.
When I remember how I shouted at Beth, I feel guilty. Yet he was innocent; he was just trying to calm me down. But I just kicked him out. Shouting as if he was the cause of my annoyance all this time. If there's a chance to apologize, I will. But not now.
