Chapter Twelve
After the doctor at Northampton Hospital’s Accident and Emergency Department said Carrie could go home, Dave took her back to his flat and insisted that she take his bed.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said. “It’s no problem.”
“No,” Carrie protested, though through her blocked-up nose it sounded more like, Boh. “I’ll feel terrible turfing you out of your bed. I’m fine, honestly. I just need to rest for a bit.”
The truth was, she ached all over from the attack, her head was full of cold and her throat was raw. If she didn’t sit down soon, she was worried she would fall down.
“Carrie,” Dave said in a ‘patience in the face of gross stupidity’ tone, “you look like death—”
“Thanks.”
“So stop being an i***t and get into bed. Come in here.” He opened the door to the bedroom.
