Shawn wore an old, ill-fitting black leather jacket, both hands tucked into its pockets. On his feet were a pair of dingy old sneakers, their laces tied loose and sloppy.
They had not seen each other for over half a month. Shawn had dyed his hair black again, his short hair fluffy and lightly curled. He looked far fresher than before, even a little well-behaved.
Yet the moment he saw Hesta, Shawn's expression turned flippant again—the very expression Hesta found both painfully familiar and deeply repulsive.
"Hey." Shawn walked over and greeted Hesta. "Never thought you'd write me a letter... When Molly told me you wanted to apologize to me in person, I thought she was trying to trick me."
Hesta took a small step back, keeping her distance from Shawn.
Looking at Shawn's face up close, Hesta realized that his injuries had not faded. Bruises she had inflicted still covered his eye sockets, cheekbones, and the corners of his mouth.
"Are you all right?" Hesta asked. "If it's convenient, I have several questions I'd like to discuss with you face-to-face today."
"Fine. Better than fine. I happen to have a pile of questions for you too..." Shawn answered carelessly. He noticed several nurses moving in and out of the nearby station, occasionally glancing their way, so he lowered his voice. "You planning to talk to me right here?"
"This isn't suitable. Let's find somewhere quiet."
"Hold on, you two." The head nurse, who had been listening to their conversation, finally interrupted the young pair. Smiling playfully, she handed Shawn and Hesta a clipboard with a registration form attached. "Sign in first. How long will you be out?"
Shawn picked up the pen and looked at Hesta. "How long?"
"Half an hour?" Hesta watched the tip of his pen. "Half