IRIS’ P.O.V
By the fifth day, the waiting had started to feel like torture.
Every hour felt like a test I never agreed to take. Blake was still lying there, still and quiet, like he was caught between one breath and the next. His chest rose and fell too slowly, his face calm but pale. I kept waiting for his eyes to open, for him to say something sarcastic, something that would make me roll mine and then secretly feel relieved. But he didn’t move. Not once.
Irene had gotten stronger since that night. The cuts on her arms had faded, her bruises gone. She looked more alive than I’d seen her in a long time. She kept trying to make me eat, drink, rest. I tried, but I couldn’t stay away from him for long. I would always find myself back here, watching his chest rise and fall, counting the sec
