Elián;
"Six months."
Dr. Leo says it gently. Like saying it calmly reduces the weight in any way. He's perched on the edge of the plastic chair beside my bed with his clipboard resting on his knee, and I can tell he's rehearsed this. The same way I can tell he's said similar things before, to other people, in other rooms.
"You've been unconscious for six months, Mr. Crood. Give or take a few days."
Six months... I stare at the ceiling tiles as I calculate how long that is. I lost track of how long I'd spent in BeastHeaven. Time only became important to me when I became pregnant...My heart sinks, and I squeeze my eyes shut before the thought can finish.
"Hey." Leo's voice softens. "It's a lot. I know. We can stop whenever you like."
"No," I croak. My throat still feels like sandpaper, even after the ice chips he's been spooning into my mouth like I'm a baby bird.
