Pauline said it without a shred of shame, then pivoted to dispensing relationship advice to her livestream audience.
"Listen up, ladies. A girl who's sick but calls someone else's boyfriend instead of a doctor? That's textbook manipulation. If you ever run into a situation like that, just have your man turn off his phone and ice her out."
I floated in the air above them, a cold, contemptuous smile on my lips.
Last week, I'd had a sudden flare-up of gastritis. Allan had rushed me toward the hospital in a panic.
Halfway there, Pauline texted him.
"Allan, I accidentally cut my finger. It hurts so bad…"
A photo followed right after.
Pauline's fingers were pale and slender, glistening with droplets of water that left plenty to the imagination. Not a single scratch in sight.
Allan slammed the brakes and left me on the side of the road.
His brow creased with worry as he swung the car around.
"Pauline cut her hand. I need to go buy her some band-aids first."
"Just get yourself to the hospital. You've been dealing with this stuff for years—you're used to it by now. But Pauline's different. She's out here all on her own, and she needs me right now."
At three in the morning, I couldn't get a single ride.