“It’s not what you think,” I try to explain after he helps me dry off and change. Now, he is meticulously and gently blow-drying my hair. It reminds me of that night after Devil’s Lair.
He keeps his gaze down, his expression giving nothing away. I remember what I said last time.
“Trust me, I’m not trying to kill myself. I lost consciousness, and I did try to get up, but I remember my hand slipping. I don’t know what happened…” I trail off as he finally looks up. In that moment, he looks so unlike himself—no arrogance, no lethalness in his eyes.
He puts away the dryer, and I grab his hand, my heart pounding, I didn't want him to be worried.
“I’m fine, really. I didn’t—”
He looks at me, his jaw tightening. “You sure?” he asks.
“Yes. I fainted. And I…I don’t have the guts to do that.”
