There's a certain calm in the silence of the night as she softly unbuttons my bloodstained shirt, slipping it off my shoulders to reveal the nasty wound.
I can only look reverently at her as she dabs at the blood, going to her bathroom to wet a towel before coming back and tenderly cleaning my wound.
Thankfully, the bullet hadn't entered my body. Rather, it had only grazed my skin, causing a big enough gash to bleed a bucket, but unlikely to be life threatening in any way.
Raising my eyes to her face, I watch her movements—brisk and efficient and wholly unlike someone who just fainted at the sight of a dead body.
She's so focused on thoroughly cleaning the blood that she doesn't realize the sight she strikes, especially as she pulls her lower lip between her teeth in concentration.