“Owwww!” I yelled.
“Are you alright?” Timothy asked, rushing to check up on me.
“Of course I’m not! My butt hurts like hell! Owwie!” I cried dramatically.
The ten-year-old kid’s face was riddled with panic. It even made me feel bad for exaggerating my fall. Yes, my butt did hurt, but the sounds of my wails were overstated.
“Don’t worry, help is coming.” Timothy tried to comfort me.
My brows creased. Help? What did he mean by help? I was doing this so I could get out of working. If someone came to check on me and realised that there was nothing severely wrong with me, the head maid would kill me.
I shoved the kid away lightly and said, “I don’t need your help! This is all your fault! If you hadn’t been bothering me while I was cleaning, I wouldn’t have fallen down and broken my tailbo
