“Let me see your arm,” Connor said, ripping a piece of cloth from a shirt inside her satchel. She took out the bottled water and wet the rag. “Take off your coat.” She yanked on it impatiently and I maneuvered out of it, lending her my arm. She wiped my wound with her a piece of rag, cleaning it off.
“It's but a surface wound. Its fine,” I told her. “And before you ask about my side it's not even bothering me.” I patted it.
“That's cool, but even surface wounds can get infected,” she explained as she took the other half of the rag and wrapped it around my arm. I watched her tend to me like she'd done this so many times. “Yes, I have,” she said.
“What?” I asked when she answered the question in my head.
“You were going to ask if I'd done this before and the answer is yes. And no, I can'
