“You sure you want this much detail?”
“…Yes?”
Darren took a breath. “Right. Well. He told me to give him my phone. I told him to piss off. He grabbed for it. I hit him, he stabbed me. I’ll be honest, I thought he’d punched me. Seriously,” he added. “I didn’t realise. I just had so much adrenaline in my system, I didn’t notice. So I punched him, hard as I could. So he stabbed me in the shoulder, twice, and the second time…”
Jayden squeezed his hand when he trailed off. He felt sick. It was burning low in his stomach, and he had the awful feeling that maybe he didn’t want to hear this, but he had to know. He had to know.
“It got stuck.”
“It what?”
“The knife. It got stuck.” Darren pulled a face. “The doctor said he hit the bones in the joint and it…well, yeah.”
“Oh, God, I think I’m going to be sick,” Jayden mumbled, clapping a hand over his mouth. The nausea swelled; Darren’s hand rubbed up his side in slow, firm strokes.
“Hey. Hey. Relax, come on. Deep breaths.”