Page 33 of The Vow Thief

By the end of the third week, it was working. The officers were talking about me when they thought I couldn’t hear. The pretty one’s losing it. Maybe she’ll break. Sean didn’t join in. He told them to shut up. He said I wasn’t broken.

At night, I cried. Quietly. Not because I was sad, but because I wanted the sound to reach him when he passed. It did. His boots slowed outside my cell, just for a second, and that was enough.

It was Tuesday when it happened. The library was colder than usual, the light overhead flickering in that nervous way it does before it dies completely. I hadn’t eaten breakfast. I was dizzy, and I tried to mask it by pretending to read. My hands trembled when I tried to turn the page. The words blurred, doubled, and then the table tilted beneath me.

When I opened my eyes again, the ceiling was different. White. Flat. Humming with electricity. My mouth was dry enough to hurt. A plastic bracelet circled my wrist.

The hospital.

I turned my head, and there he was. Sitting in the metal chair beside my bed, like he had been there for hours. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, arms folded loosely, his face still and alert.

He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if he should scold me or apologize.

“You’re awake,” he said.

I nodded weakly.“Lucky me.”

He handed me a water bottle.“Drink.”

I took it, my hand brushing his for half a second. His skin was warm, solid. I swallowed, the cold water scraping its way down my throat like it had to earn its place.

“You’re dehydrated,” he said.“You haven’t been eating.”

“The food here is disgusting.”

“I’ll be sure to let the chef know.”

I smirked faintly.

He didn’t smile. He reached into a paper bag sitting on the floor and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in paper.“Eat this.”

I stared at it suspiciously.“That’s not jail food.”

“Hospital cafeteria. I paid for it myself.”

I sat up slowly, the room still tilting around me. My hair stuck to my forehead, my palms slick against the thin blanket. I took the sandwich and peeled back the paper. It was warm. Real. When I bit into it, the taste hit so hard it almost broke me. Real bread. Melted cheese. Something that might have been turkey.

I took another bite, slower this time.“You could have poisoned it.”

His brow arched.“You’re welcome.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was watchful. He didn’t move, didn’t look away, just watched me eat. I hated that it made my pulse jump.

Halfway through the sandwich, I stopped.“You’re not supposed to do this, are you?”

He leaned back slightly.“Do what?”

“Feed the inmates. Bring them food. Care.”

“That depends on the inmate.”

I held his gaze.“And which kind am I?”

His jaw flexed.“The kind who’s going to start eating again. Every meal. No exceptions.”

“I’m not eating that jail food. You’ll just have to have my death on your conscience.”

Sean gave me a look that was all restraint and no patience.“You will eat if I have to feed you myself.”