Page 82 of Savage Hearts

“Did I lose part of my intestines, too? It feels like my guts were torn out and replaced with razor blades.”

“Gunshots to the abdomen are among the most painful of all injuries.”

“You say that like you have personal experience on the matter.”

“I do. Are you steady?”

“As much as I’m going to be.” Which isn’t much, but I’ll be damned if I’ll admit that I’m probably going to fall flat on my face as soon as he releases me.

I might be an invalid, but I still have my pride.

“The bathroom is over there.” He gestures to something.

“That would be helpful if I could see where you pointed.”

“Your vision is that bad?”

“I’m legally blind without my glasses.”

“I’ll get you another pair.”

“They’re prescription.”

“Let me worry about that.”

He takes one step back, keeping his hands underneath my armpits. I shuffle forward. He takes another step back. We go halfway across the room like that until he loses his patience.

“This will take forever. I’m picking you up.”

“I need to walk. It helps with blood flow and healing. Lying in bed too long after surgery puts you at risk for blood clots and lung problems like pneumonia.”

I sense surprise in his pause. “How did you know that?”

Because that’s what the doctors told my mother after the surgery she had to remove her cancerous ovaries, but I’m not in the mood to share painful personal anecdotes.

I say crossly, “I’ve got a big brain.”

His answer is mild. “Your head is uncommonly large for such a small person. Have you ever been approached by the circus and offered a job?”

“That’s not even a little bit funny.”

“Then why are your lips turning up?”

“That’s the face I make before projectile vomiting.”

He picks me up and carries me the rest of the way to the restroom, as if we didn’t already go over this. When he sets me down in front of the toilet and stands there with his arms folded over his chest, staring at me, I blanch.

“You’re not standing right there while I pee.”

“You could fall.”

“Yes, I could. That would be an appropriate time for you to appear and assist me. Not now.”

He doesn’t budge. Which, of course, makes me mad.

“Why go to all this trouble for someone you were threatening to kill? You could’ve just let me die back there and been done with me.”

As if he thinks he’s making perfect sense, he says calmly, “You took a bullet for me. I’m responsible for you now.”