Resent, Reject, Regret

Chapter 567 Of Course, I Thought Too Highly of Myself

The nonchalance crushed the emotional storm he himself had created in Deirdre. Balling

her hands into fists, she willed herself to suppress the urge not to deck her hand across

Brendan’s face.

“Your conscience? After all the sins you’ve committed? After all the lives you’ve ruined?

And all you get is your wimpy conscience burning a hole in your non-existent soul!? Your

conscience is worthless!”

There was something unreadable and nebulous in Brendan’s black eyes, but he

managed to maintain his caustic tongue. “All that is in the past, McKinnon, so can you

stop yapping about it? What do you want me to do? Scrap my knees begging you for

forgiveness? Grow up.”

“Grow… up?” Deirdre could almost see black spots dancing in front of her eyes. She

could not stop herself from sneering. “I guess you’re right. I need to grow up and stop

being so naive. How could I possibly demand the great and mighty Mr. Brighthall to beg

for my forgiveness? How could I commit the sin of making his conscience slap him on

his wrist!? Oh God, of course! I thought too highly of myself!”

Brendan turned his head sideways. He could not seem to come up with even more

his fever had gotten

impeding his thoughts.

her rage to ask, “And what

wanted me to make?

“Yes.” Something twinkled

let the conversation die. Only after a coughing fit seized Brendan, she

reminded of his medicine. She moved her stiffened body and took it

Passing it to him, she instructed,

enjoy his shock, she added,

strength to proceed with our

of hope he

He should have known this was what awaited him. His

of glue swirling inside his skull. Something was choking him

conversation way

pills, lay down, and sat up again. “Where are you

sit,” Deirdre replied

“Until morning?”

She ignored him.

put it on,

his commotion, Deirdre frowned. “What are you

“You get into the

destination exactly as he said he

minute. Then, she recovered from what

and sneered. “Get

who’d kick a patient

his eyes, weary. “Just

on the couch. It was a considerably more

was only after hearing his slow, rhythmic breathing that

was no trick, no twist. It was not him putting on

show.