Hilla was drenched in the rain. The wound on her back began to ache at midnight. Sweat dripped from her forehead and her face turned pale as if she had suffered massive blood loss.
"Bruce, it hurts!"
She carefully touched Bruce's hand and held it tightly in the dark, her voice full of grievance.
As she finished speaking, the light from the crystal lamp shone on her face. Feeling uncomfortable with the sudden light, she narrowed her eyes and pressed her face against the back of Bruce's hand.
In a hoarse voice, Hilla asked, "Bruce, am I dying?"
Ever since the Holt family went broke, sometimes she felt that she might better be dead than to live like this. However, at the same time, she didn't want to kill herself.
She was only twenty years old, the best age to do anything she wanted to do! In no way would she kill herself!
But in front of Bruce, who understood all her grievances, she couldn't help act a little pouty.
