The door shut behind her, leaving him alone with Doc.
“Now,” she said, hands on her hips. “If you’re ready, we can get to work. I promise, if you’re good, I’ll explain everything as we go.”
“Truly?” he asked, squinting.
“Truly,” she said with a nod. Doc adjusted her spectacles and clapped her hands together, as if that settled the matter. “Just relax this might hurt a bit.” She pulled up the quilt and tugged and—ow. “All right, more than a bit.” She shrugged.
Right, relax. As if that were possible. Sol winced in pain once more as Doc moved a damp cloth over his already burning body.
Hannah. He would think about Hannah. Hold on to her image. He closed her eyes. Hopefully she liked the poetry. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she were there? Reading it to him?
Fuck.
He forced his fist into his mouth to hold back the word as another bandage came off, along with what had to be a clump of his hair. Dash it.
Closing his eyes again, he tried again to picture Hannah’s beautiful face, especially when she was about to tease him, or more, challenge him. Yes, as long as he thought of her, he could survive anything.
And he would make sure she, and Frederick, and all his friends survived as well.
