Chapter 19
Theo
The damp shag rug in my mouth tasted sour, like sauerkraut and pickles. Which, coincidentally, happened to be also stuffed in the vacancy between my ears.
I dragged the rug around, identifying it.
That would be... my tongue.
The low pounding had a rhythm to it, reminding me of a timpani player standing in front of the world's largest drum and going at it with everything he had.
That would be... my pulse.
I focused in on the long crack in the ceiling as it threaded its way across my room. Once just a whisper, it'd grown to wind its way toward the window, threatening to meet up with the ivy growing outside and break my world apart.
My stomach gave a long, rolling growl—a mixture of emptiness and way, way too much alcohol.
I waited. Josef would come in at any minute a
