Then I started inspecting my elbow wound, also managing to find a first-aid kit. I washed off the blood that had slipped down my hand before cleaning the damage and treating it.
Fishing out a bandage and trying to work that open with one hand and my teeth, I managed to free it, but it rolled rightonto the ground, the cloth getting wet with the water and blood on the floor—another mess.
I closed my eyes for about ten seconds, trying to tamp down the sudden urge to break something out of annoyance.
At that same moment, I heard the door to my bedroom open and close.
“Elio?” Zahra’s voice met my ears, and I froze. “You in the bathroom?”
Her footsteps drew closer until the bathroom door opened, and her eyes found me—the smile on her face dying instantly when she caught sight of the blood and the mess.
“What the fuck happened?” She rushed toward me, inspecting my hand as concern filled her eyes. “Are you okay?” She reached to touch me. “Let me see—”
“Don’t,” I said, tugging my hand from her reach. “I will take care of it.”
She looked up at me and then back at the wound. “It’s okay, I can help cover it—”
“I will do it myself, thank you.”
She reached for me again, but I tugged away.
Her brows curved in a frown, brown eyes showing equal parts care and annoyance. “Let me help you.”
“I am very capable of tending to myself.”
“But it looks terrible; how did it happen?” Her gaze moved around the bathroom. I took that time to scan her from head to toe; her hair was left loose and styled to perfection, and she wore a red dress that stopped high on her thighs and showcased too much cleavage. She smelled good, too, fresh out of a probably less traumatic bath than the one I had just experienced.
What is she doing here? Yesterday, if I recall correctly, she was in Mexico.
Her gaze fell back to me, searching as she reached forward again. “What’s wrong? Why won’t you let me help?”
“Because there is no need for that.”
“You don’t have to be stubborn about it. You clearly can’t do it yourself; your hands are shaking—”
“I can do it myself.”
“E—”
“Can you give me space?” I snapped, irritated. “I will tend to myself and then join you in a moment; can you do that?”
She blinked, probably sensing I wasn’t in the mood for an argument. She hesitated a moment, sighing, and thankfully backed off. “Okay, I’ll wait for you outside the—”
“The bedroom, outside the bedroom.”
She was taken aback, her lips thinning downward, and then she nodded. “Okay.”
With that, she left the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I waited until the bedroom door opened and closed, and then I let out a breath of relief, not realizing how much I hated her seeing me like this.
Shame was the most prominent emotion.
It took a while, but I managed to finish up with the wound and clean the mess in the bathroom. When I reached my wardrobe, all the black button-ups seemed…bloodied, like the one I had taken off earlier.
Unable to stand it, I went to another section in the wardrobe and found a white one. I felt satisfied as I put that on quickly and made myself look presentable before leaving the room.
I found her in the kitchen, leaning on the table with her fingers tapping furiously on her phone screen.
Her legs were on full display, tanned, brown, and so beautiful. The dress seemed to be made especially for her, and the urge to hug her from behind was there, but I knew she would probably smell the oddness of my mood and not my cologne.
