"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kick the both of you out right now.”
As stubborn as I am, I refuse to take rest. I mean, it's not like I've haven't been stabbed before anyway.
Tyson barely spares me a glance, casually flipping a page of a magazine. He humms. "Well, your leg isn't in good shape, so you can't exactly 'kick' us out.”
Christian shrugs in agreement from the frame of the door. Arms crossed, and leaning like a model ready for a shoot.
Honestly, I'm starting to feel irritated. I know I should be thankful that they're here taking care of me, but I can't help it. I fix my eyes towards the once white carpet that's now stained in a puddle shade of mud.
I recall not having anything chocolate in your fridge. Neither food with that drastic color. I'm lactose intolerant
