My gaze moves from him down to my chest, as I lay shirtless on the couch. The skin on my side is enflamed, the wound oozing. It's throbbing, every inch of me burning up, raw and painful to the touch.

Infected. No shit.

I can even smell it.

My eyes turn back to him, but I don't say anything. He was the compromise, a forced concession. Karissa insisted I needed to go back to the hospital but I said I was fine, so she called him instead.

I'm ten seconds from removing him from the vicinity.

Carter clears his throat, surveying my injury as he holds his medical bag. "Did you take the medicine you were prescribed?"

"No," a voice calls from the doorway. "He didn't."

Karissa.

Sighing, I cover my eyes with my arm again, not in the mood for this.

Carter has dealt with me enough to know his line of questioning is pointless, so he doesn't bother asking anything else. I keep my eyes closed and clench my jaw when he puts on a pair of latex gloves and starts poking around at my skin. He flushes out the wound, sterilizing it, before covering my side with a fresh bandage.

I feel it, as he sits near me, perching on the table right in front of the couch.

"I get it, Vitale," he says quietly. "If you wanna suffer through this, go right ahead. We both know the pain won't kill you. But this infection? If you're not careful, it will. Take the antibiotics, keep the wound clean, and for God's sake, stay off your feet."

"For how long?" Karissa asks, listening to our conversation. "How long will he be down for?"

I want to make a snipe about why it even matters but the truth is, I couldn't get up and move around if I wanted to right now. I pushed myself too fast, too far, and I hit bottom before I could even really start.

"Until he's better," Carter says. "He needs to relax and sleep."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead," I mutter.

"Yeah, well, at the rate you're going, that might be soon."

The man walks away. I listen to his footsteps as he heads for the front door, Karissa behind him, showing him out. I can hear their voices in the living room, whispered words I can't make out, before the front door open and closes. Relief eases the tension in my muscles once he's gone and I hear the locks jingling, Karissa securing them.

I don't hear her footsteps.

No, she's deathly quiet.

I don't know she's there until the couch shifts, starling me when she sits down on the edge. I move my arm again, peeking at her as she holds out the orange prescription bottle and shakes it in my face.

"Antibiotics," she says. "You heard the man."

Words are on the tip of my tongue.

I don't take orders from anybody.

I nearly say the words but swallow them back at the last second as I force myself up into a sit. I grimace, one hand clutching the bandage on my side, as I snatch the pill bottle from her with my other hand. I glance at the label, reading the instructions:

Take four times daily for seven days.

Wordlessly, I open the bottle and take out a pill, popping it in my mouth and swallowing it dry. I toss the bottle down on the table in front of me before lying back down and closing my eyes.

"You're supposed to take it with food."

"I'm not hungry."

"Then at least let me get you some water."

"I'm fine, Karissa," I tell her. "Good as new."

"You're delusional."

"You mispronounced handsome."

She scoffs. "Not today. You look like shit."

I move my arm when she says that. The moment I meet her gaze, she rolls her eyes and turns away. "Whatever, so maybe you're still handsome, even when you look like you've been fucked by the grim reaper."

Those words make a laugh echo from my chest. It hurts like hell, but it's worth it, I think, based on the smile that touches her lips. Reaching toward her, my fingertips touch her cheek before grazing her lips. "You're getting awfully brave with your words lately."

"It's because you're infuriating," she says when I drop my hand. "You're so stubborn. I know you probably don't need anybody in life, but I'm here, you know, so I might as well…"

"Help me," I say when she trails off.

"Yes."

I consider it for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh. Appearing weak is against my rules, showing vulnerability too dangerous outside of these walls, but when it's just the two of us, when we're right here, maybe there's no harm in it.

"Fine," I say. "You want to help me?"

"Yes."

"Make sure nobody else steps foot in this house."

She smiles slightly. "That I can do."

One week.

I give myself a week this time, seven days to rest and recuperate. I take the antibiotics when I'm supposed to and give Karissa some leeway. By the seventh day, I'm feeling much more like myself, my strength coming back, the infection cleared. The wound still hurts a bit when I move, but it's healing. Before long, I'll barely notice it's even there.

But for now, I still remember.

For now, I won't forget.

I won't forget how it got there.

Won't forget what I have to do about it…

You can only make one first impression.

My father stressed that when I was a kid. Stand up straight. Don't slouch. Hold your head high. Don't scowl. It takes less than a second for someone to make up their mind about you. Just a glance. The blink of an eye.