A groan escaped Ashton's lips as he began to get off the bed, "let me help you." I hopped out of the bed and rushed to his side and helped him in sitting straight.
A day has passed since the horrible tragedy of that night, and Ashton had to go through an operation to get the bullet removed. His arms had not started to recover yet so getting up and other actions were still trouble for him.
I felt bad about his conditions a few times, then I would remind myself of the horror of thinking he was dead so the least I could do was to be grateful to see him alive. As for my hands, they had begun to recover and would occasionally hurt which seemed a lot better compared to when my hands were in spiky cuffs.
"What are you doing today?" he asked me once in a sitting position.
"Just the usual,
