We arrived earlier than I expected and right now, I'm in Butcher's room where he lies on his bed with the right side of his body bandaged. I don't know where I dropped my bag or who is in the room with him. I walk over to his bedside, there's a blood bag hanging from the intravenous pole beside the IV bag.
His rugged face looks more rough and battered with the little cuts and bruises on it. His eyes are closed but his eyebrows are furrowed. He must be having his usual nightmares again. My heart twists painfully at the sight.
I lift my right hand and place it on his warm forehead, rubbing it in slow motion. His face not only looks rough but feels rough also. What would I have done if he died? My chest tightens at the thought. I can't lose him too, I can bear to lose him too. My heart wo
