Snippet #2205875

Layla rolled her eyes at his attitude. He was probably five or six years older than her, but she already felt like she was acting as his mother. She began to reconsider putting away the painkillers. Perhaps his pain tolerance wasn't as strong as he himself looked? "Take out a bullet?" She repeated with shock, then waved his anxiousness off. "Believe it or not, you're not the first person coming in here with a gunshot wound," she shrugged nonchalantly. True to her word, she was efficient in retrieving the bullet. She had had her share of injured people. At this point, nothing really surprised her and any nausea that an average person might have gotten surrounded by so much blood and sickness, she had already gotten over quite some time ago.

Grabbing the alcohol, Layla winced. "This stuff burns a lot, just warning you now." With that said, she began to carefully clean his wound, gauging his reaction. She took this time to study his features. At first glance, he seemed very stern, not one you would want to be left alone with. However, spending less than an hour with him, Layla was already sure he wasn't a bad person. Perhaps the scars and the fact he was shot outside of her home was a little more than shady, but she didn't want to write him off just based on appearances. For all she knew, he could've been a teacher. On steroids...? Maybe he got into a lot of fights when he was younger...? She shrugged the ridiculous thoughts away, and concentrated on the task at hand.