" He wet a paper towel, and took my chin, lifting and wiping my face.
He picked up my hand and started cleaning it.
I leaned down, trying to see his face.
He kept scrubbing.
I had a few cuts and scrapes, and I was only flecked with blood, but I kept my mouth shut and let him clean.
As he did, I tried to check out how badly he was hurt. His scraped cheeks were pitted with gravel. His nose was bloodied. Broken? One eye was already darkening. Was that blood in the corner? His lip was cut and swollen. Were any teeth loose? MIssing?
I couldn't help it. His injuries obviously needed more attention than mine, but here was no sense saying anything until he was done.
Finally, when he seemed to have scrubbed off every fleck of blood—and a few layers of skin—I said,
He sighed, like now I was the one fussing too much "
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