"Um..."
Just as Isabelle Martin's hand touched Jeffrey Foster's forehead, a large hand suddenly grabbed her wrist, startling her into a scream.
Isabelle instinctively tried to pull her hand away, but even though the man was still lying in the hospital bed, his grip was surprisingly strong. Her slender wrist was gripped painfully, and she used her other hand to pat the man, "Mr. Foster, let go..."
Jeffrey Foster gradually woke up from the haze, but his vision was still dark. However, the familiar smell of disinfectant let him know he was in a hospital.
Feeling the cool warmth in his palm, he paused slightly before feeling a pat on his forearm, not painful nor itchy, but he still let go.
Isabelle, released, quickly covered her aching wrist and glared at the person on the bed. But facing those empty, unfocused eyes, she remembered that he couldn't see. No matter how wide she made her eyes, he wouldn't feel her anger.
