Vanessa's feignedly weak sobs came through the receiver, intermittent yet each word clear and distinct: "Liam... my heart hurts so much... the doctor said I need a blood transfusion as soon as possible, otherwise I won't make it... when are you coming?"
The scheming and smugness in that crying were almost palpable even from a distance.
He hung up the phone quickly and urgently, and when he turned around, the hesitation in his eyes had vanished without a trace, leaving only barely concealed panic. He strode towards me, giving me no chance to refuse, and bent down to pick me up in his arms.
He was very strong, digging into the wound on my ankle and causing it to burn painfully. I couldn't help but groan. He seemed not to hear me, and just kept walking quickly outside, saying comforting words, but there was not a trace of warmth left in his voice: "Clara, be good, don't be afraid, your husband will be with you when you get your blood drawn."
Stay with me?
Was it to stay with me, watching my blood slowly flow into Vanessa's body, watching me slowly walk towards death?