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My ears ring and the world around me fades. I bring my free hand to my eyes and rub, trying to clear my vision. “I’m just dehydrated, that’s all.”
“Dimitri, call Knox,” Mikhail says under his breath.
When I hear Max swear under his breath, I frown with guilt and shame. He told me to go to him for help, but I didn’t.
When the black leaves my vision, I notice Mikhail standing right in front of me, holding me steady. My head is incredibly heavy. I feel myself falling into Mikhail’s arms before everything in my mind drifts away.
CHAPTER19
SLOANE
Loud, obnoxious beeps sound through one ear and out the other as my eyes flutter open. Tubes are taped to my arms, and I feel weak. I don’t remember what happened. I was going to breakfast—that’s all I can recall.
Mikhail sits in a chair pulled up to the edge of the bed.Hisbed. I’m in his room for some reason.
“Sloane,” he whispers. It’s not sweet. It’s not angry. It’s a dreadful sound.
I follow the cords attaching my body to an IV bag. I don’t want to look at Mikhail.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
There it is.There’s the anger. I take in a deep breath, trying to calm myself down.
“Tell you what?” I ask as if I’m clueless.
“Don’t fucking do that. Why didn’t you tell me you’re diabetic?”
“You would have found some way to use it against me.”
He clenches his jaw and stands up from his chair. His arms hold the back of his head while he paces the room. “Why the fuck would I do that? You could have died,” he says with fire in his lungs.
“Do you have any other swear words in your vocabulary?” I ask, genuinely curious. He says “fuck” in every sentence. “I’m a dead woman anyway—it doesn’t matter.”
He turns away from me and slams the door shut.
“Good talk,” I mutter. I look down and notice my index finger has a plastic bit on it, weighing it down.
Moving my body up, I notice the blanket is warm. There’s a cord at the bottom of it.Did he get me a heated blanket?
“Good. You’re awake,” a man says, entering the room. He looks older. My best bet would be that he’s in his sixties. His mustache is gray, and his black hair has silver streaks in it.
“What is all this?” I ask, pulling on the tubes.
“Ah, yes. You’re type one diabetic, Sloane. Why wouldn’t you give yourself insulin?”
“I ran out,” I admit.
“I can see that. The fluid in the bag is to rehydrate you, give your body some electrolytes. I’m also monitoring your heart. It’s weak. You’ll need supplements as well. You’ve starved your body of many things and it has no fat to break down.”
I slouch back under the warm covers. “I see.”
“I’ll keep an eye on you and make sure you’re getting everything you need. You also have this.” He brings his hands to my stomach and lifts up my shirt, showing me a patch stuck to my skin. “It’ll track your glucose levels day and night. It can last up to ten days. I’ve shown Mikhail how to change it. He will take care of you.”
A part of me wants to laugh at the last bit of his sentence.Mikhail will take care of me?
I’ve never had anything this high tech on me before. My father always said it’s good to use the pen so I remember my doses. He never wanted me to get too comfortable.
“This is great. Thank you.”
