Seventy-seven

“Should we sing for her?” Wyn asks. 

We are in Bren’s room, by her bedside. I rest my jaw on Wyn’s hair and slide my arms around her waist. “Don’t do anything.” The little minion lodged between my legs groans. “You can talk to her later,” I say.

Wyn sandwiches her sister’s hand between hers, she doesn’t sing, she doesn’t talk. Seconds pass, I leave both of them to do what twins do and make myself comfortable on the couch across the room. I sniff my armpit and make a face. I need a fucking bath, food too but I am not leaving until my princess wakes. 

The ceiling is plain, same as the grey walls. Sad, dull and boring. I push myself into a sitting position. Wyn is whispering something to her sister. It must have been funny because she giggles and a smile springs to my lips. I am not sure staying here is good for her. But she looks happy as she caresses her twin’s cheek. 

I should attend to my missed calls and check on Brianna but I want to