บท 361: The Pickles

Demyan 

Malia tightly held my hand with her elbows partially resting on the hospital bed and my hand lifted to press against her forehead. Her eyes were tightly shut as she murmured low prayers and constantly kissed the back of my palm before she continued. The pain was unbearable but I was too numb to express it. 

So I simply sat there and watched her. She probably had no idea I was up because when her eyes opened then looked at me, a choked sob left her throat. The breathing mask made it difficult for me to talk so I tried to squeeze her hand to reassure her I was okay, but I found it so difficult I let out a grunt. 

"Don't Demy," she cried as her small hand brushed back my hair. She gave me a shaky smile, "You gave me quite the scare."