He lifted me off the floor and carried me back to my room.“What if I throw up on you?”“There’s this great invention I have to tell you about, ...elie,” he said, pressing his lips to my temple. “It’s called a washing machine.”I punched him in the chest.“Don’t call me that,” I grumbled.“It’s been over a year now and I still don’t have the right to give you a nickname?”“I don’t like nicknames.”“And I don’t like Mondays, yet here we are.”I snorted, but it was replaced a moment later with a groan. “I. I fell asleep here at my desk. Maybe I even passed out. I don't know. I'm so weak and tired. I tried to go upstairs to bed last night, but I couldn't do it.”“When was the last time you had a decent meal?”“I'm dieting, Detective.”“When was the last time you took a shower or shaved?”“What business is it of yours? Is there a new hygiene ordinance I'm violating?”“Of course not. I know you've had a rough couple of days, between being sick and all the horror you've gone through. Maybe you. More

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