It was extremely bright. I shut my eyes again with a moan.
“Seth? Look at me, please.”
I obeyed, blinking until I could see his face, only about a foot above mine. It was then that I realized my head was on his thigh. I tried to say “hi,” but only managed some sort of whine-grunt.
A thumb pulled at one of my eyelids. I weakly batted at Elliot’s arm, making a noise of protest.
“I’m trying to see if your pupils still contract, hold still,” he told me.
I wanted to protest that I didn’t have a concussion—and hadn’t hit my head—so there was no point, but that many words were a bit beyond my capacity. I also didn’tknowthat I hadn’t hit my head mid-shift. I certainly hadn’t beforehand, but even though I could remember what I’d done as a wolf, I didn’t really remember much from the start of my shift back to the end of it… other than the pain. It’s entirely possible that I’d hit my head, although I didn’t feel any tenderness or have a headache.
I heard Elliot let out a breath that might have been relieved, or might just have been exasperation, I wasn’t sure.
“It really shouldn’t hurt as much as it looks like it hurts,” he told me softly.
I looked up at him, at the frown on his features made by worry. I grunted, swallowed, then tried speaking again. “S’ry.”
Elliot snorted. “I don’t know why you’re apologizing,” he murmured. “I’m the one who insisted you shift.”
“Was a good idea,” I mumbled.
“Was it?” Elliot asked me, although the furrows on his brow had smoothed out a little now that I was talking to him. I still didn’t want to move much, though. Moving hurt. Not moving also hurt, but it hurt less.
“Should be able to,” I replied. “In case.”
He let out a sigh. “But it shouldn’t hurt you like this,” he fretted.
I thought about shrugging, then didn’t. “Lotsa things hurt me that shouldn’t,” I replied.
The frown increased again. “What do—because of the tick thing?”
“Lyme, yeah.”
“The other tick thing,” he clarified. “Not the food thing.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you ask the doctors if that was why shifting hurts you?” he asked me.
Some of the spasming was dissipating, so I risked a shrug. “Not much point,” I replied.
“Seth.”
I sighed. “They can’t do anything about it anyway,” I grumbled. “Why make them want to poke me even more?”
“You don’tknowthat they can’t do anything,” he argued.
“They can’t do anything about the Lyme,” I retorted. “So why would this be any different? Especially if it’s because of the Lyme.”
He let out a huff. “What if it’s something else?”
“I’ve looked it up on the internet. The answer seems to be eithertough shitorit will go away.”
“You know you shouldn’t rely on the internet to provide medical diagnoses or information, right?”
“Just as reliable as actual medical professionals,” I retorted.
Elliot signed again. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
