hair.
“Sit down, Peter!” Tiger demanded. “Ben’s doing it,” A bunch of groans came. Tiger threw a first aid kit to Ben.
Ben caught it and started to Forres’s room. He stopped. “How do I get off her shirt?”
“You have a pocket knife,” Tiger stated. “Use it.”
Ben started to the room again. A bunch of cat whistles came after him.
Crap! Forres leaves the door like it is and swiftly speed walks to the bed and get on it, muffling a groan. The door opened as she settled in the bed.
Ben closed the door behind him and goes to Forres on the bed. He set the first aid kit down and pulled out his pocket knife.
Forres could hear the blade coming out, it almost made her jump. She felt him softly grab her shirt from the bottom and he started to cut the over shirt, leaving the tank top. He split the top shirt in half and then moved the one piece over her shoulder so he could see the through and through bullet wound. She could hear him open something and put it on her shoulder. Forres winced and grabbed his hand.
Ben jumped back and cursed.
“Sorry,” Forres muttered in a rough voice. Ben looked at her. “I’ll do it,” she insisted.
“Sorry,” He apologized and stepped back. Forres reached over and grabbed a tissue and blew her nose it, cleaning out the blood from that truck guy.
Ben wanted to ask if he did that but resists.
She started cleaning out her bullet wound by herself. She really didn’t know what she was doing. The bullet goes through her left shoulder and that’s what had hit the glass window behind her before.
It was silent. Forres didn’t like that. “So you shot me?” She winced, putting rubbing alcohol on her shoulder.
“Sorry,” he repeated.
Forres let her right hand drop to her lap. She noticed that the wrap on her right hand was gone. “Can you stop saying sorry?”
“Sorry…, crap, I mean… Okay,” Ben looked away. The corner of Forres’ mouth goes up. Ben saw that out of the corner of his eyes and smiled himself. Ben pulled out a small box and opened it. A couple of cigarette and a lighter sat in it. Ben silently offered Forres one but she refused. She doesn’t remember if she smoked or didn’t but she wasn’t going to take the chance of making a fool out of herself in front of Ben.
She watched him light the cigarettes then she got back to cleaning her shoulder.
“I’m Ben,” He said, puffing smoke out of his nose. He put the cigarette between his lips and held out his hand.
Forres shook his hand. His hand was warm and soft compared to Forres’s rough and cold right hand. She wondered how anyone could get their hands that soft. It made Forres blush. She didn’t feel the pain in her right hand but she knew it was there. “F-Forres.”
“Nice to meet you, F-Forres,” Ben mocked. Warmth left her hand as he took his hand away.
Forres stared for a second, wanting to say something but couldn’t. Ben raised his brows in a questioning way. “Oh sorry, um, could you…?” She started but her voice trails off. She raised a roll of wrap and pointed to her shoulder. “I’m a…a lefty,” Forres stated. She wouldn’t have guessed that if she hadn’t thrown the knives at the zombies back at the hospital.
“Oh, uh, sure,” Ben blew out smoke and then threw his half-done cigarette on the ground, stepping on it. Forres turned so he could reach her shoulder. He grabbed the wrap and sits on the edge of the bed, now behind Forres. He, softly and slowly, started putting the wrap on. It like air, like he wasn’t even touching her. He was, though. Forres felt warm inside, like a boiling pot was in her stomach and the steam was going throughout her veins and blood. She swallowed hard and he slowly got on his knees and lifts her arm up a bit to get the wrap around there. She felt his hot breath on her neck but all she was worrying about was if she shaved or not.
She began to get nervous but that was drowned out by the smell of cigarettes and vanilla mixed
“Sit down, Peter!” Tiger demanded. “Ben’s doing it,” A bunch of groans came. Tiger threw a first aid kit to Ben.
Ben caught it and started to Forres’s room. He stopped. “How do I get off her shirt?”
“You have a pocket knife,” Tiger stated. “Use it.”
Ben started to the room again. A bunch of cat whistles came after him.
Crap! Forres leaves the door like it is and swiftly speed walks to the bed and get on it, muffling a groan. The door opened as she settled in the bed.
Ben closed the door behind him and goes to Forres on the bed. He set the first aid kit down and pulled out his pocket knife.
Forres could hear the blade coming out, it almost made her jump. She felt him softly grab her shirt from the bottom and he started to cut the over shirt, leaving the tank top. He split the top shirt in half and then moved the one piece over her shoulder so he could see the through and through bullet wound. She could hear him open something and put it on her shoulder. Forres winced and grabbed his hand.
Ben jumped back and cursed.
“Sorry,” Forres muttered in a rough voice. Ben looked at her. “I’ll do it,” she insisted.
“Sorry,” He apologized and stepped back. Forres reached over and grabbed a tissue and blew her nose it, cleaning out the blood from that truck guy.
Ben wanted to ask if he did that but resists.
She started cleaning out her bullet wound by herself. She really didn’t know what she was doing. The bullet goes through her left shoulder and that’s what had hit the glass window behind her before.
It was silent. Forres didn’t like that. “So you shot me?” She winced, putting rubbing alcohol on her shoulder.
“Sorry,” he repeated.
Forres let her right hand drop to her lap. She noticed that the wrap on her right hand was gone. “Can you stop saying sorry?”
“Sorry…, crap, I mean… Okay,” Ben looked away. The corner of Forres’ mouth goes up. Ben saw that out of the corner of his eyes and smiled himself. Ben pulled out a small box and opened it. A couple of cigarette and a lighter sat in it. Ben silently offered Forres one but she refused. She doesn’t remember if she smoked or didn’t but she wasn’t going to take the chance of making a fool out of herself in front of Ben.
She watched him light the cigarettes then she got back to cleaning her shoulder.
“I’m Ben,” He said, puffing smoke out of his nose. He put the cigarette between his lips and held out his hand.
Forres shook his hand. His hand was warm and soft compared to Forres’s rough and cold right hand. She wondered how anyone could get their hands that soft. It made Forres blush. She didn’t feel the pain in her right hand but she knew it was there. “F-Forres.”
“Nice to meet you, F-Forres,” Ben mocked. Warmth left her hand as he took his hand away.
Forres stared for a second, wanting to say something but couldn’t. Ben raised his brows in a questioning way. “Oh sorry, um, could you…?” She started but her voice trails off. She raised a roll of wrap and pointed to her shoulder. “I’m a…a lefty,” Forres stated. She wouldn’t have guessed that if she hadn’t thrown the knives at the zombies back at the hospital.
“Oh, uh, sure,” Ben blew out smoke and then threw his half-done cigarette on the ground, stepping on it. Forres turned so he could reach her shoulder. He grabbed the wrap and sits on the edge of the bed, now behind Forres. He, softly and slowly, started putting the wrap on. It like air, like he wasn’t even touching her. He was, though. Forres felt warm inside, like a boiling pot was in her stomach and the steam was going throughout her veins and blood. She swallowed hard and he slowly got on his knees and lifts her arm up a bit to get the wrap around there. She felt his hot breath on her neck but all she was worrying about was if she shaved or not.
She began to get nervous but that was drowned out by the smell of cigarettes and vanilla mixed
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