ra

g quiet in its wake. I sat on the edge of my bed, looking at the neat white

ing rap of my stepfather or the furtive scratchi

to a mask of fragile exhaustion. "W

me.

g to my research, he was a business major at the local univ

kinder expression in his eyes. He looked genuinely concerned. In his

le. "Are you okay? I wanted to apologize for Pai

ent. "Oh, no, it's not your fault.

in its sparse, attic-like quality. I saw h

my small nightstand. "Don't let them get to you.

hest, his fingers pressing lightly against his right side, just over his ribs. He d

n, told me what it was. An old injury.

portu

d to pla

orward and "tripped" on the edge of the small

grabbing my arm to ste

self. My fingers "accidentally" landed on a key meridian point, a n

flustered. I looked up at him. "You're so kin

I focused, just for a second, and pushed a tiny, warm trickle of healing en

fr

his arm and bloomed in his chest. The familiar, dull ache that had been his constant companion

me, his mouth

, as if embarrassed by the prolonged contact. "

is gaze searching my face, looking

ce a little strange. "Not at a

bout his spoiled sisters anymore. He was thinking about me. He was replaying

y lips this time. My healing was my greatest weapon. It was

ould offer hints. Glimpses. I could ma

ctor could fix, was the perfect place to start. He would need