The hours float by in a daze of painkillers. Strange smells, bright lights, machines beeping. She feels fine, like she could get up and walk out, run, but why would she, there's nowhere to run to. Being passive feels second nature.

People come and go, nurses, doctors. Flickering. Her perception of time is wrong, or is that just her memories? It seems fine in the moment. Probably the painkillers again.

Her father, talking to her, trying to be reassuring. Holding her hand. Promising he'll protect her, he won't let this go unpunished, won't let it happen again. She feels nothing. He wasn't there. No-one was, no-one cared. Now they all crawl around her, like bees in a hive, caring for a bedridden grub but not caring about it, not really. There's always more where it came from.

Someone in a suit brings folders full of paper. He's not a doctor, he's wearing black and they're all in whites. Or is that prejudiced of her? Her father is angry, waving his arms. Letting out his emotions. He should know better, feeling things never helps.

They walk out. Taylor hears them argue all down the corridor. Money, laws, responsibility, words words words, is it irresponsible not to have money?

The haze clears. Like someone finally opened the window. She's lying in a hospital bed. A machine in the corner goes beep. She sees her spectacles on the nightstand, puts them on.

Something feels wrong here.

Maybe it's the idea that being in a hospital could ever be right.