“Fine,” Kyle said, sitting down on his bed. He grabbed the insulin injector out of the drawer of his bedside locker and pulled down his jeans. He’d never understood how some people voluntarily injected drugs into their system. He’d been dealing with this for five years and still didn’t like the idea. And he was doing it for health reasons, not trying to kill himself.
Cassie was down in the kitchen when Kyle got there. There was a pile of warm sausage rolls on a plate, a cup of tea and an orange on the table. He didn’t feel the least bit hungry, but eating was still the best thing to do.
“Where’s your sister?” Cassie asked. She was taking clean dishes out of the dishwasher, drying them as she went along and peering at them suspiciously in case they weren’t properly clean.
“Don’t know. Ha
