I couldn't be sure. The moment the thought took root, though, I couldn't suppress it.
If Catherine simply ignored me during my ordeal, I might have accused her of having an icy heart but if she intentionally tied that rope around my ankle, that's a different kettle of fish. Wasn't that akin to attempted murder?
"Damon, could you fetch me some wet wipes from my bag? My hands are all greasy," Catherine requested, shaking her oil-slicked hands in mild exasperation.
Catherine had brought a bag, which was placed just a few feet away from me.
Damon responded, "Sure, in a moment.""
I got up first, "I'll get it for you!"
Seeing me approach her bag, Catherine's expression momentarily flinched in resistance, she quickly stepped forward, "It's okay, I'll get it. God knows this bag is already dirty enough."
She then moved her bag away to a place beyond my sight, only then did she proceed to take out a pack of wet wipes.
