He’s panting now, frantic.“That’s where your head is at.”
Oh. Oh,god.
I actually snort, despite everything. But he’s dead serious.
“The bullet would’ve gone into your skull,” he growls but still slurring.
I run a hand over my face. This high-as-a-kite lunatic is furious with me.Great.
“You...” he groans. “You don’t get it.”
“Idoget it,” I say softly. “The sniper was angled higher. So it wouldn’t have hit my head. It would’ve hit my chest. Where the bulletproof vest was.”
“Whatever...” His eyes close again.
Thank god.Sleep, please.
“And I’m telling you,” he slurs suddenly, “I wasn’t about to let you die. Not again.”
I freeze. My eyes suddenly stinging. I push my emotions aside. At least I try.
The silence returns, and I pull the chair closer and sink into it, trying not to fall apart. I stare at his hands and an urge to hold them takes over. But I resist.
And then I hear him murmur—
“I just... couldn’t lose youtwice.”
I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. “God. Justgo to sleep.”
“I don’t wanna,” he mumbles petulantly.
I whip my head around. “You don’t want to? You got shot. The drugs are literally designed to put youunder.”
He shrugs—shrugs!—with a wince, like that proves a point. “Not sleepy. You’re yelling.”
“Yeah, well,” I snap, throwing my hands up, “because you’re a self-sacrificing, stupid moron!”
He pouts. Full-blown sulky pout. “I’m not stupid.”
“Oh? You’re not stupid?” I tilt my head. “You took a bullet for someone you have zero connection to. Who was wearing a vest, by the way.”
I sigh. There’s no point in explaining anything right now.
He goes quiet for a second. Then—genuinely sad. “Why do you hate me?”
I blink. “What?”
He’s looking at me now with those big dumb puppy eyes. “You’re yelling. I think you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you!” I exclaim, flabbergasted. “What the fuck?”
Silence.
I roll my eyes and turn my head away—but then his voice cuts through, slurred and soft and just plain stupidly sad:
“Well... I’m being stupid because the love of my life doesn’t like me anymore.”
Oh my god.
