“We used it up, sorry.” he said with an expressionless stare.

“What?! I need that to heal Shade or he might die!!” I say and start panicking.

How are we going to keep Shade alive to go to America?! If he dies, I don’t know what I’d do..

“Well, I’m sorry,” he said, looking as least sorry as he possibly could, “but we’re out.”

On the verge of tears, I plop down on the floor. Within seconds, I start to bawl. I felt like an eight year old, just sitting down in front of “Daddy Dearest” and crying. It made me feel weak. Wiping away my tears, which added to the saddness for Shade always used to wipe them away, I stand up and go to look for a tissue. I blow my nose and all but trip into the nearest chair, and start to think to myself.

Crying wouldn’t help save Shade.

That would have to be up to me. One way or another, Shade wasn’t dying. I’m not going to let him. This is now my responsibility, my job, to save him.

But as to how I could/would possibly do it, I hadn’t a clue.