Trish's POV
The pain was a dull, throbbing drumbeat against the silence of the living room. It was the only sound louder than my own frantic heartbeat. Joseph, who had hauled my dead weight and my throbbing ankle all the way from the market, sat there, holding a first aid box like a competent EMT, and yet, the moment he started roughly treating my legs, the mask of the 'Good Samaritan' slipped.
“What was that, Joseph! Ouchhh! That hurttt so baddd!” I yelped, pulling my leg back.
He glanced up, a flash of malicious amusement in his eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he drawled, his lips curving into a slow, mischievous smile that did nothing to soothe my nerves.
“I just wanted you to deeply feel how it was to get slapped.” he smiked.
“What!”
“Yeah, my cheeks still hurt. Just look at my poor
