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It was easier to hold his hand open now, to curl his fingers closed and back open again.

But in order to reach his phone, Hollis had to have more control than that. He needed to be able to turn his hand over and walk it across the mattress, use the muscles in his arm to reach to his desk and pull the phone across the space.

He needed to figure out a way to open his eyes. Not so much that he’d wake Walt up, but just enough that he could see a sliver of light.

Then he could do two things: he could text Annie and Yulia for help, or he could spend some time doing his own research.

There was always the threat of Walt waking up and getting very angry, but there was no way in hell Hollis wasn’t about to try.

Sometimes, he fantasized about beating the shit out of Walt after he died. Exorcizing him out of his body, living out the rest of his life, passing surrounded by his loved ones, arriving at the pearly gates, hunting down this son of a bitch, and just tearing him to pieces.

The indignity of not going to the toilet alone was worth several elbows to the neck.

There were just some things about being a person that didn’t require a witness, much less the experience of sharing.

Walt acted like he didn’t care, but Hollis knew he would. If this were his body, Walt would care .