Font Size:
He sits.
Good.
Progress.
I move in front of him again, hands already working—checking the bandage, pressing lightly.
He doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t look away.
Just watches me.
And that—
That is a problem.
“Try not to get shot again,” I say.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Please do.”
Silence settles between us.
Thick.
Heavy.
Too quiet.
The storm outside fills the space.
But it’s not enough.
Not nearly enough.
Because I can still feel him.
Too close.
Always too close.
“…this is a bad idea…” I whisper under my breath.
“What is?” he asks.
I freeze.
Then—
“Nothing.”
He doesn’t buy it.
Of course he doesn’t.
He never does.
