Ryan did as he’d said he would—washed the dishes, then turned on the TV. He tried to concentrate on the program, but found his thoughts veering off in two directions, instead.
It’s been four days. I should be getting better. He didn’t mean his body. It would heal at its own pace. The bruises on his throat were already a memory. A bad one, but at least not a visible reminder of Merrick’s choking him. His ankle bothered him but it, too, was getting better. His ribs? They hurt when I touch them too hard, or take more than shallow breaths, but I must be getting used to the pain because I only really notice it when I think about them, or move the wrong way.
“When will I forget what he did to me?” he whispered. “How he tricked me into loving him? He was so convincing, and I fell for it. Am I s
