He stepped closer.
“You haven’t eaten, so your nurse will be giving you more IV fluids,” he said.
“I don’t want that.”
“The doctor said you’re dehydrated.”
“You don’t know what I need.”
“I know you’re shaking because you are hungry.”
I looked down at my hands. They were trembling. I balled them into fists.
“I’m leaving,” I said.
“You can’t.”
I walked past him toward the door.
I twisted the knob, and it was unlocked.
I looked back at him.
“Try it,” he said quietly.
That was all I needed.
I bolted.
Down the hallway, past security posted outside the suite. They moved fast.
“Stop her,” one of them said in French.
“Non,” Ares’ voice carried behind me. Calm. Clear. “Laissez-la courir.”
Let her run.
I didn’t look back.
I flew down the staircase barefoot, my body remembering what my mind forgot. Track practice. Years of it in high school and college. I used to run like this before drugs.
I ran through the foyer.
Through the massive front doors.
The gates were open because a car had just entered.
I slipped through before they could close.
The hill was steep. Gravel bit into my feet. I kept going.
Air burned in my lungs. My head pounded. My legs felt like rubber.
But I ran.
I made it halfway down the hill before my vision started to blur.
My body was not what it used to be.
