ra
g quiet in its wake. I sat on the edge of my bed, looking at the neat white
ing rap of my stepfather or the furtive scratchi
to a mask of fragile exhaustion. "W
me.
g to my research, he was a business major at the local univ
kinder expression in his eyes. He looked genuinely concerned. In his
le. "Are you okay? I wanted to apologize for Pai
ent. "Oh, no, it's not your fault.
in its sparse, attic-like quality. I saw h
my small nightstand. "Don't let them get to you.
hest, his fingers pressing lightly against his right side, just over his ribs. He d
n, told me what it was. An old injury.
portu
d to pla
orward and "tripped" on the edge of the small
grabbing my arm to ste
self. My fingers "accidentally" landed on a key meridian point, a n
flustered. I looked up at him. "You're so kin
I focused, just for a second, and pushed a tiny, warm trickle of healing en
fr
his arm and bloomed in his chest. The familiar, dull ache that had been his constant companion
me, his mouth
, as if embarrassed by the prolonged contact. "
is gaze searching my face, looking
ce a little strange. "Not at a
bout his spoiled sisters anymore. He was thinking about me. He was replaying
y lips this time. My healing was my greatest weapon. It was
ould offer hints. Glimpses. I could ma
ctor could fix, was the perfect place to start. He would need
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