[In-person: PJ and Atticus]
[PJ was exhausted. But she used her good arm and hand to splash cold water on her face and run a brush through her hair, and brush her teeth at least. She was in a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, arm in a sling to support her fucked up shoulder. Her hand and wrist were wrapped and bandaged up. The bruises that were peeking out from under the collar of her shirt and up her neck from her shoulder were fading to yellow, but still visible.
She was pretty beat up. But had been getting better. But spending the night dancing her ass off had caused the pain to come roaring back in a big way.
She didn't think she'd re-injured anything. So for now she was ignoring the pain. Because she knew that tomorrow was going to be a game changer.
She was scared.
So the best she could do was ignore that too.
The knock at her door startled her a little. But then she pulled herself together. She hadn't wanted to bring Atticus into this mess, so the least she could do is keep him as far removed from it as possible. And with any luck it would only get as weird as him dropping her off at the barn.
She didn't know if silver bullets were a thing either. No one had ever told her one way or the other.
She opened the door and smiled. But then looked at the wheelchair like it had just called her a name.] Do I really have to get into that thing?