I suck in a breath and sit up too quickly.
Mario is in front of me before I even realize he was sitting in the chair across from the bed.
“Easy.”
The word is gentle and soothing.
He stops at the edge of the bed instead of reaching for me.
I notice that.
Even through the panic, I notice that he keeps his distance.
I also notice he has not changed. The same shirt is still open at the collar, sleeves rolled, his hair not as perfect as it usually is. He looks like he has not slept at all. He probably has not.
I clench my fingers into the blanket. “How long was I asleep?”
“A few hours.”
“What time is it?”
“Late.”
“That is not a real answer.”
“No.”
I stare at him.
The corner of his mouth moves, barely, and somehow that tiny, controlled hint of humor makes my throat tighten.
I am alive.
I am in his house.
He is here.
I swallow and look past him, toward the door. “What happened?”
His face sobers immediately.
“We don't have to do this right now.”
“I want to.” I press one hand to my forehead, trying to make my thoughts line up. “All of it. I need to know all of it.”
“You need water first.”
“I need answers.”
“You can have both.”
I want to snap at him.
Instead, I watch as he reaches for the glass on the bedside table and holds it out to me. I take it.
My hand shakes.
Mario sees but does not comment.
