🦋 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.
