Mellow.

My head hurts like I’ve been grating a rock with it. And I feel numb. Too numb for my own good.

My eyes are blurry too. All I see is a blurred ceramic ceiling before it is intercepted with a face that looks like Polinel’s.

But it’s her, isn’t it?

“She’s awake. I told you I’d wake her,” her muffled voice resounds in my head. Makes me wonder who the fuck she’s talking to—my father, my mother, Cross, Chelsea?

Who on earth would be here with me if ...