She jumps away from me, knocking all four glasses off the counter and onto the floor, and then cries out before blood starts to pool beneath her foot.
“Shit!” I hiss.
“What happened?” Zara and Jake stand confused in the doorway, but I don’t bother with them.
“Stay still,” I order Marly, “I’m going to lift you onto the counter.”
Her eyes are squeezed closed, but she nods her head, so I close the gap between us, my sneakers crunching over the shattered glass, and then I lift her onto the counter behind us and away from the sharp shards on the floor.
“Shit, Marly! You’re bleeding!”
“Stay there!” I tell her friend, I don’t need to deal with any more cut up feet, “In fact just get out and let me handle this.”
“Excuse me?!” Zara gasps, offended, “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to!?”
I glare at her and then Jake, who ushers her back out the door.
“She’ll remember that for as long as you two know each other,” Marly warns me, her voice shaking.
“I need to look,” I tell her, ignoring her warning. I don’t give a shit about what her friends think about me.
She raises her leg a little, giving me her foot, so I take her heel gently and lift, seeing a huge piece of glass imbedded into thesole along with some small shards. Blood makes it hard to work with, especially since there’s a steady stream of it running down her foot and dripping onto her pristine white floor.
“We might need to take you to urgent care,” I wince.
“No!” She blurts, yanking her foot out of my grasp.
“What do you meanno?” I scoff, reaching for her again but she shifts, bringing her foot onto her lap before she reaches for a towel.
“I mean no,” She glares, “I don’t need to go to urgent care.”
“Marly, your foot is bleeding, the moment I take that glass out, it’s going to get worse, and I think it needs stitches.”
“You’re being dramatic,” She tuts, “Pass me the first aid kit.”
I blink at her, just a little stunned, one because of the sudden attitude switch and two because sheclearlyneeds medical attention.
“Why are you refusing to go to the hospital?”
“I need the first aid kit, River,” She ignores my question, “It’s under the sink, can you please get it?”
Teeth grinding together, I crouch and retrieve the kit, placing it on the side and unzip it. She isn’t going to be able to get it out herself.
“Give me your foot.” I bite.
“Don’t give me attitude,” She snaps back.
“Me? Give you attitude?” I scoff, “Look in the mirror, princess.”
I grab some gauze and the tweezers from the kit before I get to work on her foot, removing the smaller pieces of glass first.
“If you don’t like it,” She hisses, “You can leave.”
I laugh, shaking my head, “What I don’t like, Marly, is you refusing to see a professional when you clearly need help.”
“It’s a little bit of glass, I’m sure I’ve had worse.”
“Whatever you say, princess.”
