Page 9 of Molt
“I shouldn’t have.”
“You knew what happened to me.”
His jaw tightens. “Go home, Lenora.”
“Tell me what the fuck is happening.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
I stare at him as another line of blood slips from his nose.
“You need a hospital.”
A humorless laugh leaves him. “No.”
“You’re bleeding through my ceiling.”
“I’ll clean it.”
“That’s not the point.” I huff.
This man is insufferable.
“It usually isn’t.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What does that mean?”
His eyes drop to my bare legs, specifically my right thigh. The place where my scar used to be.
His face goes completely still. “How much?”
“What?”
“How much came off?”
My stomach drops. “How do you know about that?”
“Lenora.”
“How much what?”
His voice becomes sharper. “How much skin?”
I step backward and he immediately moves forward making me flinch but he stops as something passes across his face.
Is that pain?
“Don’t.” he warns.
“Don’t what?”
“Be afraid of me.” He whispers.
“You’re a stranger who knows my name, my phone number, and that pieces of my fucking body are falling off.”
