I hear what sounds like muffled cursing through the door but I make myself wait. I know that, in her place, I wouldn't want to be seen like that, vulnerable and hurting and naked on top of that. Which is the other problem. This is definitely not the time or the sort of way I'd want someone seeing me like that for the first time. I need to stop thinking about that.

I'm so caught up in not thinking that I almost don't hear her call my name.

"Coming," I say, knocking on the closed door even though she's the one that called me over. When there's no protest, I let myself in. It's hard not to wince at her catalog of injuries. None of them are life threatening but they all look like hell and there are definitely a few places that, no matter how flexible, would be hard to reach.

"What should I do?"