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“Little rabbit, talk to me.”
But I can’t talk to him. I don’t want to open my heart up that much and risk the pain it will cause me if he is lying.
“Come.” I climb off the bed and grab his hand, pulling him towards the bathroom.
I make him sit on the edge of the bath while I switch the shower on. When the water is at the right temperature, I tell him to climb in. When he is in the shower, I climb in behind him and pick up the body wash.
I slowly begin to lather it over his body, working carefully around where the bullet grazed him. The long slash is still bleeding. He closes his eyes and leans his hands against the wall, letting me do whatever I want to do. I clean his body and when I am done soaping his front, I stand on my tip-toes and kiss him under the warm flowing water.
I so badly want this to be real.
I soap myself down quickly, washing away his blood, despite him wanting to do it for me.
“No, you’re going to make the bleeding worse,” I tell him. “Get out of the shower. Do you have a medical kit?”
“I do,” he says slowly, his eyes darkening.
“You don’t like to be told what to do, do you, Kiril?” I grin.
“I guess it depends on the situation, but generally, no.”
“Well, in this situation, I think you are just going to have to suck it up.” I laugh.
He shakes his head and wraps the towel around his body, ignoring the fresh blood running down his arm.
“Hurry up, you’re bleeding all over everything again,” I chide.
He chuckles as he leaves the bathroom.
I am back in the bedroom with my dressing gown wrapped around me when he returns carrying a medium-sized leather bag with a zip running across the top. He tosses it onto the bed and sits down next to it. But before he can open it, I pull it away from him.
“What are you doing, little rabbit.”
“I’m taking care of you for a change.”
“And do you know what you’re doing?”
“No, but I can figure it out. It can’t be that hard.”
I look through the bag, pulling out the antiseptic liquid, sterile cotton pads, tape, and a bandage.
I shift towards him, kneeling next to him on the bed.
He remains quiet, watching me closely while I pour the disinfectant onto a cotton pad. I pause briefly, knowing it is going to hurt, before I press the pad against the wound on his arm.
He does not even flinch.
I clean up the blood and disinfect the entire area. When that is done, I press another clean cotton pad against his arm, tape it in place, and then start to wrap the bandage around everything to secure it.
When I am done, I lean back to admire my work with a smile.
“Not bad, Jenn,” he says. “I am actually quite impressed.”
“Thanks.”
“My brother Maxim would have practically gagged or even passed out having to do that.” He chuckles.
“Was Maxim there tonight?” I ask.
