Faith
Fucking hell.
I turned to my back and hissed in pain before staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling fan. Slowly, and carefully, I sat up and stared at the room, Angeles's room.
The clock on the table said it was midnight.
Looking beside me, I ran a hand over the cool left side and stared over at the soft snoring. He laid on the couch, one leg on the floor and his other hanging off. He was too tall to be in that little couch.
Standing up, I walked over to the couch and ran my hand up his arm, noticing all the scratches, his face was scratched up, his lip split and he wore a black eye. I softly ran a hand over his cheek and the underneath of his eye. His face laid in my palm before he slowly opened his eyes,
