Page 26 of Dante
Her name comes out rough. Broken. My throat feels like sandpaper.
"Don't."
She presses harder on my chest. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make her point.
"You're not moving. You're not getting up. You're not going anywhere."
"I need to?—"
"You need to shut up and lie still."
Her hand doesn't move.
Neither do I.
"The doctor said no movement for three days. You've been unconscious for—" She pauses. Checks something. Her phone, maybe. "—six hours. That leaves sixty-six more hours before you're allowed to do anything except breathe and take your medication."
"Marina—"
"I said don't."
The anger in her voice is sharp enough to cut.
I stop talking.
She's right.
I can feel it now. The weakness in my limbs. The fog in my head. The way my body is screaming at me to stop fighting and just rest.
I'm in no condition to go anywhere.
I'm in no condition to do anything.
"Water," I manage.
Her hand leaves my chest. The absence of it feels wrong. Cold.
I hear her footsteps. Soft on carpet. Then harder on what sounds like tile.
A faucet runs.
She comes back.
A glass appears in front of my face. She doesn't help me drink it. Just holds it there. Waiting.
I reach for it.
My hand shakes.
Fuck.
I hate this. Hate being weak. Hate being dependent. Hate that she's seeing me like this.
I manage to wrap my fingers around the glass. Bring it to my lips. The water is cold. Clean. The best thing I've ever tasted.
I drain half of it before she pulls it away.
"Slow down. You'll make yourself sick."
