I couldn't hear the words, but the way his lips curled back over his teeth told me he was roaring.
Hangover soup pooled across the marble, swirling around jagged porcelain shards that bit into my ankle. The old me would have screamed. Would have leaped up, tears streaming, begging him to look at my wound.
Now?
I simply crouched down.
Piece by piece, I collected the broken ceramics. Blood from my ankle ribboned through the brown broth, painting a gruesome abstract across the tiles.
"I'm talking to you! Are you deaf?"
Joshua's leather sole crunched down on the back of my hand just as my fingers closed around a shard. He ground his heel, crushing bone against stone.
The pain should have been blinding.
I didn't even flinch.
The doctor had warned me—the damage to my auditory nerve would likely dull my pain receptors too. Heaven's parting gift. A way to endure this hell with a shred of dignity intact.
I looked up and offered him a perfect, hollow smile. With my free hand, I signed:
*[I'm sorry. I'll go cook another bowl.]*
Joshua froze.
The rage in his eyes stalled, curdling into something worse. Deep, visceral disgust.