He even told Naomi to stay away from me, as if I might somehow hurt her. Even though I had made up my mind to end things, his words made me feel like I was falling into an icy void.
My palm was deeply cut, with shell fragments still stuck in it. My knee was a mess, with blood streaming down my calf and staining the sand. The rest of my exposed skin was covered in large bruises. To Mason, though, it was just “a little bleeding.”
A passerby, clearly moved by my state, helped me to a chair and went off to get iodine and gauze.
Naomi shot Mason a look and said sarcastically, “The nearest pharmacy is just 200 meters away. It should take less than five minutes to get there and back. You’re a big guy—don’t tell me you can’t walk there?!”
Mason realized he had overstepped but couldn’t bring himself to apologize. With a cold expression, he grabbed the cotton swab from a young lady’s hand and pressed it against my knee, applying way too much pressure.
I flinched and tried to pull away and he gave me this look as if to say, “See, she doesn’t want me to touch it.” It was like he was waiting for me to prove him right.