you're sitting in your enemy's lap. you muffle your screams by burying your face in his neck. his jaw is locked, eyes hardening when he studies your wound. the pain was consuming. you started panting and writhing in his lap. you let out a hiss when he dabs at your arm, trying to clean up the blood. he presses a hand against your hip to steady you, he clears his throat. "This is going to hurt." he warns before pouring the alcohol over your arm. "Izzy." he grounds out, "Stop."