I do not sleep well.
I usually sleep on my front, but that is now painful and therefore inadvisable.
"You should have gone out and shifted," Owen grumbles at me as we dress for class.
Thankfully, it is Friday.
"I am aware," I mutter, gingerly sliding my shirt on.
At least it has stopped bleeding.
There is a hard lump over the middle of my collarbone where the break is.
You're an i***t. Is this meant to be penance? Calix asks.
You are probably not far off. But I did not exactly have time last night, and I was a little distracted, I reply.
Ah yes, the grand realisation that this is not merely attraction, wounded pride, or a tether you can blame on fate.
You make it sound worse.
No. If anything, this suggests some personal growth, Calix says, sounding far too pleased with himself.
