“I don’t like having things done for me. I’m already so useless.” I whisper to him.
He helps me walk back and once we reach the bathroom he moves to help me lift my shirt, but I’m nervous and step back shyly. “Please, let me help you. You’re covered in blood and you can’t get your finger wet.” he says to me. I know he’s right, but I’m so nervous. He can tell, so he takes his jacket off and walks out to place it on my bed, and then his tie. He sits to remove his shoes and socks and when he goes to unbutton his shirt I become even more nervous and look at the ground. I hear him place his shirt and pants on my bed and he walks back over to me. He gently places his hands on my shoulders. “I’ll never do anything you’re not ready for. But you CAN’T get your finger wet. Would you rath
