Chapter 7: A Proposition
For the next few days, we rarely speak to each other. I stay in bed, though I try every so often to stand. He delivers food to me every few hours, setting a plate next to me on the bed and quickly leaving the room. I spend much of the time staring at the ceiling, trying to accept my fate.
On the third day of my bedrest, Dominik enters the room outside of mealtime. He drags his feet as he slowly makes his way across the floor, finding a seat on the edge of the bed. He takes hold of my foot and lifts it up, unraveling the bandage.
“It looks like the swelling has gone down,” he says. “Does it feel any better?”
“I suppose,” I say, refusing to look him in the face.
“Come, let’s see if you can stand.”