Her voice caught slightly, nasal, "What on earth is wrong with you?" "..."
"Will looking at it kill you? Why won't you let me see you?"
"..."
"I promise I won't call the police."
The other person withdrew their hand from her hair and turned to leave.
Norris sat there, biting her lip unwillingly.
She really had no appetite for food.
The other person didn't seem to care whether she ate or not, finishing lunch alone at the table and then paying no further attention to her.
After eating, he sat on the sofa as usual to rest.
Then he took a bandage and wrapped it around the wounded areas.
He had grown accustomed to the pain; it wasn't as unbearable as it had been at the start.
As the afternoon sunlight streamed in, the scabbed wounds on his body itched and tingled. Leaning on the sofa, he closed his eyes slightly,
letting the tightly wound nerves of the morning relax.
Norris, who had been sitting on the bed all this time, whispered low,
"Trenton Smith, it's you, isn't it?"
