“How are you feeling?”
“Tired.”
“Breakfast will help.”
Just the thought of eating makes me want to throw up. As does the thought of staying in this apartment any longer. It’s too big a reminder of everything I can’t do, everything I’m in the process of losing.
“I need to get home.”
He doesn’t argue. He probably wants to get me back home himself. Playing nurse really doesn’t seem like Ruslan’s style. And yet, as with everything else, he does it so well. He carries me to the bathroom despite my protests; he helps me get dressed; he even insists that I eat an apple before we leave.
I’m expecting the SUV to come to take us to Hell's Kitchen, but Ruslan ends up driving himself. The whole ride is marked by a heavy silence that I don’t have the strength to break. I just sit there, wrapped u
