Her eyes were still tightly shut, and she was focusing on her breathing. She distantly heard Patrick's voice, but she forced herself --
onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightninetenonetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnine
-- fuck.
"I hope," she said with a shaky breath, "that you won't divorce me if I'm missing a toe." Because that would just be a damned shame. Being away from Patrick reminded her (not that she really needed a reminder, persay) that she needed him. She'd been hoping that he'd be asleep in their bed, that she could shower quietly and slip between the sheets without waking him and that he'd open his eyes in the morning to find her there. That things wouldn't change at all.
She hoped they wouldn't change now, even so.
Counting her toes made her realize how much her feet hurt, made her realize that she wasn't wearing any shoes and that she probably looked like a crazed mud-man. She pursed her lips and took a long, slow breath as she opened one eye, squinting in the dim light.
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