When I swam back to the surface, blinking my eyes open more easily this time around, the sunlight had moved from the windows, leaving only ambient daylight.
My impromptu nap had washed away the panic, but it'd left me feeling drained and apathetic. So I couldn't remember.
I'd deal with it later. It felt so far away that it didn't matter.
The magazine guy sat in a chair by my bed, a phone in his hand, frowning down at it with tension in every line of his body.
I stared at him, not wanting to speak and attract his attention before I'd looked my fill. Long legs, broad shoulders, lean body. Maybe too lean, and that didn't surprise me, given that I could vaguely recall how poorly I'd been fed in that prison-place.
This man's frame was a lot bigger than mine, and he had to have a few inches of height on me, too. How had he survived on rations that had always left me feeling more than half-starved?
