🦋 ALTHEA
The moment he stepped into the room, I knew something was horribly wrong. Even with my back turned to him in bed, his gait was off—steps uneven and his breathing thunderous, like he was trying to breathe past a knot in his chest.
I found myself turning to face him, sitting up to look at him.
He ripped off the mask, tossing it with more force than was necessary. His eyes snagged on mine—neither of us moved or spoke.
I blinked slowly when the moment became far too agonizing. I braced myself to ask the question on the tip of my tongue, but he beat me to it.
"You are not going anywhere," he growled.
The vitriol in his voice was so potent I flinched and backed away. His tone made memories float up, the ones I'd rather keep buried. The hate and disgust singed at my skin, burning me. And like a child who had been burned one too many times, I recoiled.
