“I-I’m…I’m getting dressed—”

The excuse almost sounded believable if it wasn’t cut short by the tearing of the stitches in my shoulder straps, quickly followed by the feeling of them slipping off to join the rest of the gown still caught under my knees.

She gives the knob a jiggle, “You sure you don’t need me to come in?”

“Yesss…I-I mean n-no!” God, why does everything I say have to sound so high-pitched?