Chanyeol was back in a few minutes with a maid who avoided all eye contact and silently cleaned up the broken glass without a word. Chanyeol stood to the side, watching her closely. I wondered if she had been threatened to not say a word about what she saw while doing the job. The tremble in her hands and the nearly unnoticeable glance she gave me once said she probably had.

Jongin had been told to go find someone with medical skills but had failed to and Sehun wouldn't allow for a doctor to be called or for me to be taken to them. As a result, a first aid kit had been found in the bathroom and Chanyeol was rifling through, the maid now gone. Sehun was stood against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed and scowling at me as I smeared more blood along my cheek while attempting to wipe away tears.

"There's not any numbing medication," Chanyeol noted, holding up a pair of tweezers. I tucked my bleeding hands closer to myself. 

I was pretty sure there were a few pieces of glass in my face and arms but my hands had gotten the brunt of my brawl with Jongin and too many shards to count were protruding out of my palms.

"She'll live," Sehun said, shrugging. 

Chanyeol gave me an apologetic smile and reached for my hands. I drew back. I wanted neither one of them to touch me even if the cuts were stinging like fire and I could feel blood running down my cheek. Chanyeol sighed.

"Come on, Sorin," he murmured lowly. "I know it hurts." He lay his hand out toward me, palm up. I stared back at him with as much fire as I could find in teary eyes.

Sehun sighed irritably and rolled his eyes. "Do you want your hands bloody and full of glass as well as your face? Because I'd have no problem leaving it like that."

"Then do it," I snapped. A sniff followed, melting away any volicity my words had. "You're going to kill me in a few hours anyway so what's it matter if I'm bloody and full of glass?"

Sehun got off the counter. "Fine! Put the kit up, Chanyeol, and go back to your job, let her suffer," he demanded. "If she wants sit there and feel sorry for herself, then so be it. It makes no difference to me. Put her in the bedroom and lock it so I don't have to hear her incessant crying." He stalked off then, going to find a spot on the couch and punching the TV remote.

"Sorin . . ." Chanyeol tried again but I slid off the table, wincing at all the cuts, and hobbled to the bedroom. I swiped the back of my hand against my cheek and sat down on the chaise lounge at the end of the bed. Chanyeol came and locked the door, sending me a pitiful look just before he closed it. 

For a while, I sat there, turning numb to the pain. Crimson tripped onto the cream-colored carpet at my feet. It really didn't matter. I would be dead soon and mere pieces of glass in my flesh would mean nothing. I'm not sure how long I sat there. The sun started to come up and the bleeding had mostly stopped but every twitch of my hand elicited pain as the glass dug deeper. 

It was a while longer before the sight of blood registered and the stickiness of my shirt against my skin and the red stains on my pants all became suffocating. As the sun was brightening up the windows, I stumbled to the bathroom and stripped my shirt and pants off, biting down on my lip to keep from crying. In the mirror, I could see the cuts. My knees were scraped but most of the cuts were on my arms and thighs. Before I could even attempt to check those, though, I had to get the glass out of my hands. There were several scraps along my cheeks and forehead.

I dug around the bathroom for several minutes before I found some tweezers. I had to steady my self with several deep breaths before I turned the faucet on and ran my hands under the cold water. Then I started to pluck out the tiny, clear shards. After a few pieces, I had to pause and take a deep breath and blink tears away so I could see. The pain wasn't unbearable but being the one controlling it made it harder to do. 

I picked several more pieces out. Then someone sniffed behind me, announcing their presence.

I dropped the tweezers into the blood-stained sink and whirled around. Sehun was leaning against the doorframe, looking less amused and more monotonous at my state of undress and injury than I would've predicted him to be. 

"I can hear your whining all the way in the kitchen," he said, coming forward. I backed into the sink. He eyed the cuts on my legs and arms before taking my hands, easily pulling against my attempt to pull away. The strength I'd had hours before had diminished.

He pulled my hands under the running water and I whimpered at the stinging. Every inch of me wanted to pull away from Sehun, stab him with the tweezers he wa