Hospitals are boring.

I’m drugged up, hooked to machines, and accumulating debt faster than a rat on an exercise wheel.

It doesn’t help that I’m still groggy and, well, not disorientated, but definitely not tethered to reality. Plus, I get yelled at every time I move, so that’s fun.

I groan long and loud, wanting to at least be able to get off this bed to piss.

A passing nurse must hear me because she pops her head into the room, barely repressed smile fighting her before she says, “Is it actual pain this time or still self-pity?”

“Self-pity,” I admit, trying not to pout. “If you help me up for a second, I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“What did I tell you last time?”

“Honestly, Janice, bleeding out on the floor feels like a risk I’m willing to take.”

“You’re fun, Perry. But as much as I like you, I like my job more.”

She walks out again, and I’m left with my too-slow-moving thoughts and maybe more self-pity than I had before she stopped in.

No Margot, no St. Clare, no friends, and I keep reaching for a bracelet that doesn’t goddamn exist anymore. This sucks.

I’m aware that I’m supposed to be focused on the whole being-alive thing, but my legs keep going numb, and weeding through sluggish thoughts is frustrating as hell.

There’s a knock at the door, and I close my eyes, letting out a long groan again. “Quick, Janice, help me up. I’m dying.”

No fake-sympathetic response. Instead, there’s a pause, and then, “Is this going to be another situation where I signal for an emergency and waste everyone’s time?”

My eyes crack open, and there’s the familiar sympathetic and indulgent look St. Clare’s been so good at giving me lately. “We’re in a fight,” I announce.

“Is that so?” He walks into the room and pulls up the chair by my bed. “That didn’t take us long.”

“You’ve been gone forever. I’m spiraling out of my brain.”

“Considering you’re talking at half speed and I was gone an hour, I think we’ll get past this relationship hurdle.”

I reach for him, but my hand isn’t working properly. “Touch me. But angrily.”

“Angrily?”

“We’re not in a fight if we’re not angry, and I can’t get angry right now, so you’re going to have to do it for me.”

His hand wraps around mine, and then he kisses my knuckles. “I’ll do my best.”

“You’re already failing.”