XENIA
Thekla had apologized to me almost a hundred times now.
She didn’t stop apologizing on the way to the infirmary, and while she tended to my wounds, she still went on with the endless apologies.
“I’m so sorry he’s such a jackass sometimes, I truly am,” she breathed the words in a cracked voice, dipping the cotton wool in disinfectant and gently rubbing it over the scarring on my neck.
I winced slightly, “for the hundredth time, you don’t have to apologize for him. You’re doing more than enough by tending to my injuries,” I assured her, meaning every word.
Disagreeing with me, Thekla shook her head as she reached for an ointment.
“I do though, I do. We’re friends now, so if my boyfriend is hurting you, it’s a shortcoming on my part as well because I should’ve done better to keep
