LHM
Fifteen hours later, he sleeping it off in a hospital bed, four stories high. It was too familiar. Too clean. Too bright. At least there was air conditioning. Jacy was off who-knew-where, riding the endless elevators out of boredom, and I was an exhausted mess.
Edward was going to have the two black eyes of the century. He had three stitches across the bridge of his nose. Seventeen stitches in his mouth. Two teeth were knocked loose, and his chin was split open. His neck and shoulder scraped raw and red and angry. A random broken finger.
A no-good, very bad concussion.
He'd split his helmet open.
When he woke up, I was going to kill him.
AN:
Oh boy...
HH is my north star.
xo
HBM