"I'm not sick," comes out so sharply it's like a knife in the air, and the edges of a growl coat the words. "I don't. Get. Sick. I can't get sick. I can't get sick."

That's not how it works, that's not how it's ever worked, she's supposed to be— she can't get sick. She can't get sick. She can't—

She tugs at her hair. Snarls ripple past her gritted teeth. "No. No. No doctors. Don't need a doctor."

Can't go to a doctor, no, the blood's only getting louder, put her in front of someone else and—