I heard her approach.

The soft pad of bare feet on tile. The hesitation before she rounded the corner. The way she stopped feet away instead of coming closer.

I kept my eyes closed, whiskey glass balanced on my stomach, listening to her breathe.

She was looking at me - I could feel it. That sharp gaze tracing the bruises across my chest, down my arms, probably wondering if they hurt as much as they looked.

They did, and it was worth it.

The silence stretched until she finally spoke.

"When ...