When my eyes opened, slowly and grittily, it was still daylight. Half a peanut butter sandwich sat on the edge of the pallet, a few inches from my face.
My stomach growled at the sight and smell of it, even though I'd have cut off an arm for something hot to eat—but that would've required bowls and utensils and crap the guards would've needed to deal with later.
Sandwiches were easier for them than even shitty prison slop would've been.
I levered myself up, painfully pushing up on my arms until I could turn and lean back against the wall.
He sat beside me in the same position. We were shoulder to shoulder—or at least, shoulder to bulging bicep.
I picked up the sandwich a little warily, even though I wanted it more than I'd ever wanted anything in my life. "You saved me food." I couldn't quite bring myself to turn my head and look at him.
He grunted. "Eat it before I change my mind."
