Your girlfriend’s a mess. You’ve never seen Sevika so beaten and bruised, especially when she’s the one who usually does the beating.

Sevika hisses as you dab a wound on her face with a cotton ball damped with rubbing alcohol. She shifts in her seat on the bed, pushing your hand away.

“I said I don’t need you to clean my wounds,” Sevika grumbles, looking at you as you stand in front of her.

It’s only half true: She doesn’t need you to, but she kind of… wants you to.