Angie's tone carried a conviction that made Mercedes worried. She was cutting vegetables with her mind afar when a sharp pain cruised through her forefinger. "Ouch," she cried, blood oozing from the finger she cut through, as she ran it under warm running water.
"Sorry, sorry, where do you keep your first aid," Angie asked, panic-stricken.
"In my bedroom, Opposite Griff's," she said with painful pants, while the warm water washed the blood. Angie hurriedly brought the first aid box and began treating her wound. "Sorry it will hurt a little," she warned Mercedes.
"What difference does it make?" Mercedes asked sadly. After all, she was already in pain. Angie worked like a feather, so she could help lessen the pain.
"There, all wrapped. I will take care of the veggies. You can grill the c
