The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 132

Now, his tone was laced with impatience, as if she were bothering him.

Without a word, Penelope picked up the bowl of black liquid and drank it all in one go, then turned the empty bowl upside down with a flourish.

A corner of Theodore’s mouth lifted. “You brought your brain with you today?”

“You can question anything else about me, but not my integrity. It’s the foundation of my character,” Penelope said, enunciating each word.

“Anything else? Like your personality? Your intelligence? Your looks? Your figure?”

“That’s not the point!”

Theodore let out a low chuckle, took another deep drag from his cigarette, and was about to hang up.

“Wait, what happened to your arm?”

Penelope had spotted a large gash on Theodore’s raised arm. The blood had stained a significant portion of his white shirt red.

He glanced at it dismissively. “Just bumped it.”

It was clearly a lie, but she knew better than to press him. “You should go to a hospital and get that bandaged.”

“There are no hospitals here.”

“A clinic, then. At least get some antiseptic on it.”

“No clinics either.”

“That cut looks deep. Doesn’t it hurt?”

Theodore looked into the camera and let out an exaggerated hiss. “It does, actually. A lot.”

An idea popped into her head. “Hold your arm up to the camera.”

He looked confused but did as she asked. The video quality wasn’t great, but she could see the wound was deep and still bleeding. She leaned closer to the screen and gently blew a puff of air at it.

“There. All better.”

A short, humorless laugh escaped him. “What did you just blow? Fairy dust?”

“I’m worried about you!”

“Blowing on it won’t help. I need a painkiller.”

“I have some here, but I can’t exactly send them through the phone.”

He held up his injured arm again. “Think of something.”

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