COLT
"Come on, baby. You gotta eat." I whisper it against the silence, my voice rough, fraying at the edges. Hoping she won’t bite me this time. Praying, actually, because last night—
Last night, I had to force her mouth open. Had to tilt her head back, press the spoon between her lips, and watch as she choked it down, tears spilling from empty eyes. I don’t want to do that again. I crouch in front of Amanda, the steaming spoon hovering between us, my fingers tightening around the handle like if I just hold it steady enough, if I just ask the right way, she’ll snap out of this.
She doesn’t.
She hasn’t moved in hours.
She barely blinks, barely breathes, curled in on herself on the edge of the cot, knees tucked up to her chest beneath the hoodie I draped over her earlier. It swallows h
