Page 84 of The Art of Ruin

She shifts slightly, adjusting the blanket. “I watch things to switch my brain off.”

“That implies you switch it on sometimes.”

She glances at me again, eyes flashing with anger before she sees me smirk. Teasing her and making her smile somehow makes me feel less helpless. “If I left this brain on 24/7, it wouldn’t be fair to the rest of the world. The bulb in this brain is very bright.”

Seeing her like this eases that tight knot of worry that had lodged itself in my chest and stayed there since I found her yesterday.

“Ah, yes, a public service. I see.”

“Exactly.”

I don’t respond to that.

Instead, I watch as she reaches for the water I left beside her, her movements still slow but steadier than they’d been earlier. The pain pill I gave her to take with her food must be kicking in.

She’s managing it.

Just with less resistance than before.

She takes a sip, then lets her head fall back against the cushion, eyes drifting toward the television across the room without turning it on.

“You’re going to sit there working all day?” she asks after a moment, her voice quieter now, less guarded.

“I have things that require my attention,” I reply, not looking up from the screen.

“That wasn’t really an answer.”

“It was sufficient.”

I hear the faint shift of fabric as she adjusts the blanket again.

“You could at least pretend to be a normal person for an hour,” she says. “Put something on.”

“I am a normal person.”

“Mm.” There’s a pause, then, “That’s still up for debate.”

I glance up at that.

She’s watching me now, one eyebrow lifted slightly, like she’s waiting to see if I’ll engage or retreat.

I consider ignoring it.

Then I close the laptop. “What would you suggest?” I ask, grabbing the remote and taking a seat beside her on her bed. Not under the covers, but next to her so I can see the television better.

Her expression shifts, not quite surprise but close enough that I notice, and again I fight the smile.

“That was easier than I expected,” she says.

“You didn’t think I’d back down from a challenge, did you, Casey?”

She huffs out a small breath, reaching to take the remote from my hand, careful not to let our fingers touch. “Okay, let’s see… do you strike me as someone who watches terrible reality TV, or pretends he’s above it?”

“I don’t pretend. I am above it.”

“Right,” she says dryly. “Of course you don’t.”

She scrolls through options slowly, her thumb pausing occasionally as she considers something before moving on.