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Too close.
Again.
Mila
He’s worsethan he’s letting on.
Of course he is.
Men like him always are.
I peel back the edge of his shirt before he can stop me.
He tries anyway.
Too slow.
Too late.
“Don’t,” he mutters.
“Too bad.”
The fabric pulls free.
And yeah—
That’s not great.
The wound is angry.
Reopened.
Bleeding more than I like.
“Congratulations,” I say dryly. “You’ve made it worse.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that again.”
He almost smiles.
Almost.
Unbelievable.
I pressdown to stop the bleeding.
He tenses immediately.
Jaw tight.
Breath controlled.
Not a sound.
That tells me everything.
