"I brought you food, Adam. Since when did you start driving to get yourself killed?" I lift the warm lunch box in my arms.
He's still staring at me silently, a cold gaze I don't dare behold, so I just stare at the bed, refusing to look at him.
"Is this my consolation prize?" he finally speaks up. But his voice is too low. Too dangerously quiet.
I know exactly what he's talking about. He wants me to admit to it.
I clear my throat. "What the hell do you mean by that, Adam?" I reply to him with a question, totally playing dumb.
"You know what I'm talking about, Hermione."
"The food in your hand, is that my f*****g consolation prize after you're done letting him f**k you on your balcony?"
His words sting me, the way he just said them.
His voice is raw and seething. The sound of it make
