“I know,” I say impatiently. “You don’t need anybody’s help, especially mine. But you’re going to get it, so either you tell me where your first aid kit is or I go digging around your entire apartment till I find one. It’s your choice.”
From the look on her face, she would like nothing better than to give me a black eye to match her own.
“In the living room, under the coffee table,” she finally mutters.
My injuries haven’t exactly healed, so I can’t move very fast. By the time I retrieve the first aid kit and return, I walk in on her taking off her shirt. She’s wearing a sports bra underneath, but I can see that her entire back and both sides are littered with bruises. I can’t control my sharp intake of breath.
Her body stiffens, and she glares at me over her shoulder. “Get out! I’m ch
