Chapter 3.

[pattering ......] The heat of the bathroom steamed and I looked at myself in the mirror, a luridly horrifying scar that had scabbed over my flat belly. I don't know how it's done. As soon as I woke up. Ethan said it was a gunshot wound. [Ethel, do you need me to come in and help you?] The blurry, tall figure stands outside the door, knocking and getting a negative answer, concerned, [You still have a cut on your head, be careful.] [Got it.] I quickly compose myself and push open the door to see Ethan standing guard like a doorstopper, naturally taking the towel from me and carefully scrubbing my hair. The gentle movements didn't match his tough guy image at all. But it pokes me. The table was set with a variety of food, all my favorites and enough to last me for days. Ethan sat cross-legged on the floor and forcefully carried me next to him, and then, as if that wasn't enough, simply carried me to sit on his lap. The man seems to have a skin hunger. Whenever you're alone