“You don’t care about me do you?”

His question got my head spun around to face him looking away from the physician who was dressing my wound. The wound I had sustained from fighting with Franco.

He was almost done with it, so he hastened up with the treatment.

“What do you mean?”

“You went out that night, not a fucking care how I would’ve felt if something happened to you.” His voice came out with a low growl.

I looked away from him, removing my hand from the physician’s grip.

“I’m almost done. You shouldn’t leave it without having it treated. It might get infected.”

“You should leave,” I...