CHAPTER 64: Date Night at the Hospital
Ella
The fork clatters against the plate as I fumble to pick up a piece of meat with my injured right hand. "Damn it." The words slip from my lips, frustration bubbling up inside me. It has been days since I woke up in the hospital, but the simplest tasks still elude me, reminding me constantly of my injury. The bandages on my hand feel like chains, and no matter how hard I try, I can't even manage to hold a piece of cutlery without dropping it.
Elijah, sitting nearby, immediately stands from his chair and puts down the book he has been reading. His eyes sparkle with amusement as he approaches the bed and perches at the edge, looking down at me. "Looks like I'll have to feed you again," he teases, already reaching for the fork and knife.
I shoot him a pout, folding my arms across my chest like a petulant child. "I can feed myself, I just need to get used to eating left-handed," I huff, though the evidence in front of us suggests otherwise.