The pounding in Rome’s head made him think he must’ve been assaulted by a brute with a sledgehammer. He opened his eyes as far as he dared, just a slit, and immediately wished he hadn’t. There wasn’t much light in the room, wherever he was, but even the soft glow from the open window and the clock next to the bed was enough to make him nauseated.
“Are you awake?”
He recognized his mother’s voice and the light touch of her hand on the back of his head as he struggled to swallow back the bile that filled his mouth. All he could do was groan. Never in his life had he ever felt like this before, not even when he’d fallen over the second story balcony at Bart’s house when they were kids messing around. If it hadn’t been for Ella’s face in his mind’s eye, Rome would’ve wanted to die.
