When I woke up, the first thing I did was check on his injury. It wasn’t getting worse, but it wasn’t improving much either. I frowned, knowing that I would have to make a decision soon. Maybe I could buy myself another two days at most, but no more. With a sigh, I grabbed some alcohol wipes and carefully began cleaning the wound.
He stirred, grumbling as his eyes fluttered open.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” I said softly, dabbing at the wound. “I just wanted to clean it.”
"How bad is it?" he asked, his voice raspy from sleep.
I hesitated before answering. “Let’s just say… it’s not getting any better.”
“s**t,” he muttered, leaning back against the makeshift bed.
“I’m sorry,” I said, the guilt gnawing at me.
His brows furrowed slightly as he tilted his head to look at me. “Why are you apo
