Ryan leaned against the basement door, fighting to keep his eyes open.
The narrow landing seemed to darken whenever he blinked, and each time it took more effort to lift his eyelids again. He breathed through his mouth in shallow pulls, unable to draw air any deeper without feeling the pain catch beneath his ribs. Sitting still hurt. Shifting to find a better position hurt more.
By now, he knew the difference between the pain he could endure without moving and the kind that made his body react before he could stop it. He tried to avoid the latter, keeping his hands loose in his lap and his legs where Callighan had left them.
He had never felt so weak.
Even holding his head upright was becoming difficult. It kept slipping toward his shoulder, and he would drag it back up, briefly confused about where he was before the door pressed against his back reminded him.
He was out of the chair.
The thought helped him focus.
