The apartment was too quiet.
I sat on the couch with a blanket over my legs and a bandage wrapped around the back of my head. The nurse said "mild concussion, no heavy lifting, lots of rest." David wrote it on a sticky note and put it on the fridge like that would make it better.
David wasn’t home.
He’d texted: Double shift. Be home by midnight. Don’t open the door to anyone.
Don’t open the door to anyone.
Right.
Xavier had set my bag down by the door and was in the kitchen unpacking groceries. Soup. Bread. Painkillers. Ginger tea. The stuff people buy when they don’t know what else to do.
“You don’t have to do all this,” I said from the couch.
He didn’t look up. “I know.”
“You should be resting too. Your face”
“It’s fine.” Finally he turned. The bruise on his jaw was purple
