"You're not fuckin' okay," I hiss, my hand on his face, but he feels cold and clammy, his skin a weird grey color that I know is fuckin' bad.

"Jesus. Why the hell did you come home. You should be at the fuckin' hospital," I say, fumbling around for my phone, but it's not in my pocket. "Goddammit," I growl, scrambling back into the living room and throwing sofa cushions around until I find it.