NOAH
I am officially at my breaking point. Actually, scratch that. I have bypassed the breaking point, sailed right over the edge of the cliff, and am currently sitting in the charred wreckage of my own sanity, and it is very much on fire.
It has been three days since the "incident." Three days since Cassian decided to play action hero and then expected me to be his personal Florence Nightingale. But I'm not a nurse. I'm not a maid. At this point, I'm pretty sure I'm a high-salaried performing monkey with a black silicone tail.
The worst part? According to Cassian, this is all my fault. Apparently, I was the one who forced him into a testosterone-fueled wager with Alex. I was the one who made him ride a horse while bleeding. At this point I waited for him to blame me for the Spanish Inquisition or the invention of the kale smoothie next.
"Noah," a low, gravelly voice vibrated from the couch.
