Fuck.
I start to push myself up on my elbows. The movement sends fresh agony radiating through my torso, but I've had worse. I've definitely had worse. I just can't remember when.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Marina's on her feet before I can blink. She crosses the room, hands raised like she's going to physically shove me back down.
"Goddamn it, Dante. The doctor said three days. Three days of no movement. That means you stay in that bed until?—"
"I need to use the bathroom."
The words stop her cold.
She stares at me. I watch the realization dawn across her features. Watch her process what I'm saying and what the alternative would be.
"No." She shakes her head. "Absolutely not. You can't?—"
"Marina." I push myself up further, ignoring the way my vision swims at the edges. "I'm getting up."
"Like hell you are." Her voice rises. "You have a hole in your side. A hole, Dante. The bullet almost hit your kidney. If you tear those stitches open, if you start bleeding internally again?—"
"Then I'll deal with it."
"You'll deal with it?" She laughs, but there's no humour in it. "You'll deal with it. That's rich. That's really fucking rich coming from the man who showed up at my door half-dead and expected me to just?—"
She cuts herself off. Presses her lips together so hard they go white.
Something warm spreads through my chest that has nothing to do with the wound.
"There it is," I say.
"There what is?"
"You. Cursing at me." I manage to swing my legs over the side of the bed. The room tilts. I wait for it to steady. "If there's one thing I'm grateful for in this entire mess, cara, it's hearing you curse at me again."
Her eyes flash. Blue-green fire that I've been dreaming about for two years.
"You're grateful? You're grateful that I'm—" She makes a sound of pure frustration.
Marina's jaw works. I can see her running through options. Bedpan. Bottle. Something that would keep me horizontal and spare us both the indignity of what I'm about to attempt.
"You can't," she says finally. "You physically cannot walk to the bathroom. It's fifteen feet away and you can barely sit up without turning grey."
"Watch me."
I plant my feet on the floor. The cold hardwood sends a shock through my system. Good. I need that. Need something to anchor me to consciousness while my body screams at me to lie back down and never move again.
"Dante." Her voice drops. Warning. "If you make your condition worse than it already is, I will kill you myself."
I look up at her. She's standing close now.
I smile. It hurts. Everything hurts. But I smile anyway.
"I'd love to see you try, cara."
"Can I just—" She stops. Starts again. "Can I at least bring you a bottle? Something. Just so you won't have to get up."
I watch her struggle with the words.
