12. Fuck You, Liam

Avery’s POV

With each touch to my wounded arm, I whimpered again—lost count after the hundredth time. Olive worked gently, her hands careful as she disinfected and bandaged the raw injury. I clenched my teeth, a futile attempt to barricade the sharp pain that streaked through me like lightning.

Her eyes, filled with unshed tears, met mine apologetically. "Almost done, I’m so sorry if I’m hurting you," she murmured, her voice cracking with emotion.

I let out a weak scoff, the sound more air than defiance. "You’re not the one who should be apologizing, Olive," I managed to say, my voice thick with the effort of holding back tears.

I caught the hesitation in her eyes, the slight tension as she paused, biting her lip. I could sense she was holding back words, probably the urge to remind me that some of this was on me—that had I just kept my head down, refrained from challenging them through staying quiet when asked a question or for saying the wrong answer, maybe I wouldn't be sitting her