James
And once more, unbearably, we wait.
And it is excruciating.
My Green-Eyes. My beautiful Jade….
What does it take to stop these bastards?
I don’t want food and left to myself, would survive entirely on coffee, pacing the room, muttering to myself….
Until Michael pushes something at me, a sandwich.
“I don’t want it.”
“You’ll damn well eat it. You’re stressed to hell and wired on caffeine…. And you’ll be no use to her if you make yourself ill.”
He’s right of course, and I choke the thing down, then wash it on its way with more coffee.
Michael looks ill himself, forcing down a sandwich with me, I think mainly to make the point. His face is normally…. I think a woman would call it ‘chiselled’. Right now, he looks gaunt.
Guilt?
They were with him when they were taken….
…. Not
