“Black.” “Black means?” His fingers re-start tracing along the lines of my soaking lips. “Stop everything.” “Good. What else?” “Red means stop what you’re doing and change activity.” He hums at my answer, and I shuffle my feet further apart. “Yellow means approaching the limit of my tolerance.” My voice cracks, my breath snags in the back of my throat as one finger dips just a little between my lips making my knees shake. “Green means I’m okay.”
