The memory made her knees give up. She could still feel the taste of his skin on her lips and all she had to do was close her eyes to imagine him before her, with his dark eyes, full lips, the little mole on his right cheekbone and the terrible scar she had struck on the other side.
No, she was still too weak, too sensitive to stay in front of him, showing indifference. Better to avoid him. She dressed and, seeing her backpack on the floor, realized it was time to pack up again. Too bad she had no idea where to go, nor how to say goodbye to the people she loved.
The following days were exhausting. She slept too little and always next to Gina, or sat close, flipping through medical manuals courtesy of Doc, drinking gallons of coffee to avoid the risk of collapsing.
The poor creature was
