The touch on my hand disappears, and for a few moments, he simply watches me. I glance down at his lips, where a few red stains mar the corner of his mouth. Probably from when he kissed my fingers.
“Yes,” he rasps.
“No one deserves to die in such a way.”
“You’re very naive if you believe that.”
“Maybe.” I take a clean piece of gauze from the cart and reach out to wipe the blood off his lips. His gaze stays focused on my hand so intently, as if he’s expecting a punch from a flying fist. I pause just an inch away from his mouth. “Um . . . You have blood on your face. I’m just going to . . .”
I slowly press the gauze to his lower lip, then move it to the corner of his mouth, letting the material soak in the red. His eyes hold mine, like two magnets, not allowing me to look away.
“I told
