“You’re going home with me or I’m going home with you. Either way, we’re leaving this hospital together, and you’re staying by my side all night so I can keep an eye on you.” “I’m fine—” “You’re pale and your hands are still shaking,” I said, lifting them to press against the wall beside her head, fingers entwined with my own. Her breathing became labored, matching mine. “I’m driving you. Are we going to my place or yours?” I asked, breathing in her air. She blinked a few times, deciding the answer, probably trying to figure out if arguing would help. It wouldn’t. I’d already decided, and
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