The suppressants taste like chalk and regret.
I swallow them dry because my hands are shaking too badly to hold the water glass Bael offers. The pills scrape down my throat and I cough, doubling over.
"Easy." His hand is on my back, steadying me. "Just breathe."
I'm trying, the heat is still simmering beneath my skin, quieter now but not gone. My legs won't hold me. Everything aches.
"Can you stand?"
I nod, even though it's a lie.
He doesn't believe me. His arm wraps around my waist, supporting most of my weight as he guides me toward the closet.
"Your clothes are ruined." He pulls out a shirt, dark gray, expensive. "Wear mine."
I stare at the fabric. "They'll be too big."
"I don't care, put them on."
I do, because I don't have another option. The shirt hangs off my shoulders, the sleeves past my hands. He finds pants that are only slightly less ridiculous, rolls the cuffs so I won't trip.
When he's finished, I look like a child playing dress-up in his father's closet.
