But she couldn’t sleep. The bed spun. She felt woozy and nauseous. Too tired. Too wired. And all she could think about was the line of pain going up her neck and driving its spike into her head.
“I've had a hard time with some of my fellow Christians,” he said softly. “It's hard not to build up a wall. But I've met some really great believers, too. They don’t all agree with me about stuff. But they love me.”
“Aren’t you, like, a Christian?” It was making no sense. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, as though that might help. “I mean, aren’t there rules, or something?”
He flipped through all the chats he had already seen, familiar dark dread narrowing his windpipe, stinging his eyes, aching through his back and neck. Why was he such a failure at connecting with people?
She nodded, but clenched her teeth. The room seemed to grow dim, as though someone had lowered the lights and muffled the sounds. She needed to go—somewhere else, anywhere else—so she got back up and walked out the door.
She would just lie here today, she thought. Who cares? Not the one who counted. He was lying brain-dead in the hospital across town.
She felt neither alarm nor even wonder. It simply was. Her body was there, doing what little it could for the inconsolable. And she was here, a dispassionate observer.
He could feel his heart pounding like a jackhammer, his face was hot, sweat breaking out along his hairline.