The man took great care in cleaning up her wound, giving his full attention to the task until he was satisfied that she would be safe, if just for a short time.
Placing aside the materials he used for cleaning her wound, he turned to face her, studying her face carefully.
She thought he had kind eyes, but she still hated him. She hated everything.
Pain from her shoulder shot to her very soul, but she tried to ignore it. It was important that she understood what was happening to her.
"Well, answer my question now. I asked you a question," she stared into those annoyingly kind eyes. She would have preferred for him to be in a bad mood like her. How could anyone feel good when she was feeling like crap both physically and emotionally?
"What was it again? I don't remember what you asked."
