Cuco’s pov;
The doctor was asking questions as he treated my wounds, but my mind wasn’t on either the wounds or his words about being careful and pressure points and whatnots. I was bothered by his words.
Fernando had promised to use the money to handle my uncle’s funeral and sort the warden, as well as to try to find a way to get me out of here.
“How long have I been here?” I asked, startling him as he froze, a syringe in his hand, his eyes, a mix between fear and worry.
“Oh,” he smiled, keeping the syringe on the metal tray. “You mean, in jail?”
I nodded.
He smiled, a nervous smile that didn’t reach his eyes, like he was trying to ascertain where I was going with that question. “You’ve been here for twenty three days and…”
“Thank you,” I said, startling him even more.
“I know it
