My legs buckle.
Pain lances through my ribs.
Hands catch me again.
“Easy,” someone mutters.
Easy.
Right.
The door opens.
Soft.
And I hear it before I see her.
Her breath.
Shaky.
Uneven.
Then, she speaks—and it is the best kind of music to my ears.
“David?”
Her voice is small.
Rough from disuse.
I turn my head.
Slow.
And there she is.
Pale.
Eyes red.
Hair messy like she’s been running her hands through it for hours.
My Sunshine.
Standing five feet away like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she steps closer.
Everything in me settles and detonates at the same time.
“Hey,” I try to say.
It comes out wrecked.
Rough. She crosses the room in two seconds flat.
Careful of the wires.
Careful of my side.