Rules. We need rules. “You look warm.” A big hand palms my face, jolting me out of my reverie. Wyatt stands over me, long fingers tangling in my hair. “Are you feelin’ okay?” Rule number one. “Don’t touch me,” I snap, batting his hands away. Wyatt’s expression hardens. “You need food.” “I don’t want food.” He sighs. “You know I’m not going to accept that.” “For fuck’s sake,” I mutter. Rule number two. Escape. “I’m going to the bathroom,” I say, trying to maintain my attitude even as pain ricochets through my body. My hip screams its protest as I roll my walker in the direction of the hallway.
...more
