Sunlight attacked his eyes as he struggled to keep them open. He blinked slowly—almost cutely—and tried to stand, but his legs betrayed him. He staggered and fell right back onto the couch, flat on his back.
A soft feminine voice floated from behind him, calm and familiar.
"You're not that strong, Michael. Don't stress yourself too much."
He turned his head toward her and sighed. It was Ruth Hawkins—his personal doctor.
Great. He was in her hands again. He didn't know how he got here, or why, but he knew one thing for sure: he felt exhausted. Weak. Completely drained, as if his blood had been leaking out drop by drop.
"No, I'm strong. I just couldn't sleep well, that's all," Michael forced a smile, trying to appear fine.
