"Ouch..."
A sharp, unguarded sound slips from my lips before I can catch it—a small, pained gasp that escapes like a traitor, exposing the hurt I'm trying so hard to hide.
I hate that sound.
I hate that he heard it.
I sit on the edge of the couch, my ankle throbbing with a dull, persistent ache that pulses in rhythm with my heartbeat, each throb a reminder of my own carelessness.
Why didn't I notice the floor was wet?
I was too distracted. Too caught up in Moon's voice, in his warnings, in the tangled mess of everything spinning through my head—his jealousy, his possessiveness, his relentless way of filling every empty space with his presence.
And now this.
An injured ankle.
