Vasyl patted the side of the twin bed as an invitation to me. “Come, sit with me.” I did. He reached for the bottle with his left hand and grimaced.
“What's wrong?”
“I am injured on my left side,” he said. “Would you—?” He grimaced. That was the same side my pain was on. What's wrong with him?
I got up and went around the bed and handed him the bottle.
“Merci.” He took a long pull, swallowing, and settled the bottle on his stomach. He was not wearing pants. This I could see as his white legs were sticking out from the white sheets. My eyes automatically saw blood stains. Crap!
“You're still bleeding?” I gasped, horrified. I looked down to find a blood-soaked cloth around his stomach.
“Oui,” he sighed. “You can do nothing for me.”
“But—” my side-stitch made me put a hand to it. “I'm
