Everything was a jumble. His watch said six. Was that a.m. or p.m.? Today or tomorrow or the day after or a week after? He reached to lift the curtain, and his injury protested. Propping himself up, he tried again and saw a fenced yard in the dim light through the barred window. A dank, musty smell hung in the air, similar to where Diana had been imprisoned when she was kidnapped. When was that? Months ago? Years? He blinked to clear his vision and focused on his arm. He swore under his breath. Needle marks. How many shots had they given him? Dozens? Hundreds? Too many. Questions rambled in his head. Times, days, months, years ― every one without answers. How long before he didn’t know who he was? He had to pee. Every stumbling step to the bathroom wrenched his wounded chest. No way could he stand, so he plunked down on the toilet seat and relieved himself. With one hand on the wall and the other on the sink counter, he heaved to his feet, holding on to fasten his pants and waiting until everything stopped revolving.
What do You think about Polly Iyer - Diana Racine 03 - Backlash?
