[𝐅𝐮𝐠𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞: 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

Chapter 8 [All Clean]

He carried bandages in one hand while pointing to his bed.

Scaramouche

"Damn, I get it you're hurt, but it took you an hour to bathe? Damn."

You

"Well... That's how long I usually take to bathe. I thought everyone took long."

Scaramouche

"An hour?! The most I'd say is at least 30 minutes or less... Anyway, we're gonna start by cleaning the ones on your torso."

He lifted your worn light grey t-shirt, which had formerly belonged to a prisoner who had been sentenced and executed. You started to feel embarrassed since he had been looking at your body for quite some time. 

He gave you a brief glance before turning around to retrieve the towels and hydrogen peroxide.

Scaramouche

"This part is supposed to hurt."

You

"Yeah, no shit."

You only got two scratches on your lower torso, which wasn't too bad. Because one was on top of the other, you'd only have to endure this anguish once, and both could be cleaned in a single sitting.

Scaramouche

"... Are you ready?"

You nodded your head, staring at the cloth that had hydrogen peroxide which was being held in Scaramouche's hand.

He eventually placed it on the scrape, applying pressure on it as slowly as he could. You took a sharp inhale and strained your eyes away from Scaramouche, hoping he wouldn't notice. He did, however, notice. In any case, your reaction was just too apparent.

Scaramouche

"Sorry. I know it hurts, but if it gets infected then you die, and if you die, then I'll be punished."

As he removed the cloth and treated the injured area, he said. He did the same process to both of your arms, and you had quite severe injuries around the elbows and upper shoulder. 

The hardest part was when he started cleaning the scrapes around your face since you couldn't take your eyes away from him at this point. In fact, you had to look him in the eyes so he could clean the scratches correctly.

Every time the cotton swab touched your face, you slightly tilted your head away from Scaramouche's hand. You didn't care about the pain any longer; you simply didn't want Scaramouche to look at you.

Scaramouche

"Jeez, are you about to start crying?"

You

"No, I'm not." Yes, I am.

Scaramouche

"Are you sure? You look like it."

There was just one more wound on your face that he needed to clean and bandage before applying the bruise cream to help them recover faster. Instead of tightly shutting your eyes and turning away, you blinked quickly and scrunched your brows slightly, wincing every time he placed the cotton swab against your face. 

He did it softly, which startled you. You anticipated him to clean your wounds in the most agonizing way possible, but it didn't seem that way anymore.