He didn't have painkillers.
He doesn't even think the pain could be killed but he did have something. 'Pain-numbing formula', he says, and then, he goes through his trusty suitcase. Pulling out a white sachet, I empty the contents into my mouth and realise it's one of those powder things. Immediately my mouth dries up and my face shrivels up at the taste, choking at the texture in my mouth.
Sir Dominic, the petty guy gives me a serves-you-right look and I scoff, thinking I needed to retort something back but only white powder billowing out of my mouth.
The atmosphere is tense and he doesn't speak up at all. And it's like he was telling me not to talk as well. He walks over to my bedside table and he pours out a glass of water. I take it almost immediately when he leans it out towards me.
I hungrily gulp down the liquid and hr speaks up very softly,
'So the baby's not his?'
