"You will never be Charlotte Ericsson."
That's what an exhausted Connor Cornwall whispered just as I was about to leave his hospital room.
I halted my steps, turned around, and looked at the man.
Connor had fresh, pink skin when I first met him, but now his skin resembles a greyish blue that I've only ever seen on my dying grandmother. Yet, despite this sickly exterior, the man still wore a smug smile on his sweaty, grey face.
"You heard me." His slightly out of breath voice got louder when I merely c****d a brow.
His long, shaky arms were struggling to do what is a very simple task for people like me - people who still have the use of their legs. He was trying so hard to pull himself up so he could at least sit up in his hospital bed. However, this simple task looked to be so long an
Aksara