Alice hadn't be sure Quinn would accept her offer of help, as closed-off and stubborn as he seemed to be, so she was surprised but not unhappy when he conceded. It wouldn't have sat well with her if he had strained his injuries more while trying to manage them simply because he had allowed pride to get in the way of assistance. As he set of briskly ahead of her Alice shook her head with a smirk and then quickly followed after.
He seemed to know his way around rather confidently and for the first time Alice realised he might not be a freshman. She hadn't really thought about it before. She mulled over her thoughts in silence since Quinn didn't seem like keeping up conversation. They soon arrived at his room anyway, and Alice glanced about the space curiously. From her experience, it was pretty tidy for a guy's room, but clearly inhabited as his belongings were already set out. She briefly considered the contrast with her own unpacked luggage and sparse room.
As her thoughts returned to the matter at hand, Alice shifted her weight from one foot to the other restlessly. She felt a little awkward just standing there, and when Quinn turned to face her she wasn't sure what she should be doing. He seemed to be managing the situation better however, and without further ado, proceeded to remove his shirt.
Under different circumstances Alice may have admired the view, but the situation didn't really lend itself to such things. Still, she couldn't help but observe the numerous pale scars that traced Quinn's torso. They put the few she had to shame. The largest lay across his ribs, it was surgically neat with the tell-tale pattern along its edges that indicated it had been sutured. Others were less neat; some were still pink, more recently acquired. No wonder he endured his currently injuries without complaint, it seemed that getting himself hurt was not an uncommon occurrence.
"Remember, you asked."
Alice was beginning to wonder exactly what it was she'd gotten herself into. Her mouth was set in a grim line as she tried not to jump to conclusions. She noticed the smears of red on his hands where he'd handled his shirt.
"It's bad," he said, then turned to show his back.
'It's bad.' No kidding! Alice hissed in a sharp breath through her teeth and breathed out a colourful four-letter word. Despite her experiences, her bedside manner was somewhat lacking. Multiple gashes cross-crossed the flesh of his back, the skin around them was swollen, red and angry. Many of the wounds themselves had started to scab over only to have broken open again; his back was wet with blood.
It was one thing to know he was injured, and even feel that pain, but the sight of it was something else entirely. She took an unconscious step forward her hands clenching into fists and opening again with anxious energy. This was wrong. She knew what gravel rash looked like, and the pattern of a dog claws, or even barbed wired scratches. This wasn't any of those. Her mind buzzed rapidly grabbing at thoughts as quickly as it rejected them. If someone had done this to him, she'd kill them. If Quinn had done it to himself, she fix him up, then she'd kill him. Alice's head felt light yet she still had the sudden craving for a cigarette. No, smoking was bad, she wanted alcohol. Yes, alcohol. And cotton swabs. And plasters... She muttered another four-letter word that would have earned her a dirty look from her mother if she'd said it in front of her little brother.
"Where-" Alice's voice cracked and she cleared her throat. Her words came more clear, authoritative, and carrying an undertone of quiet anger. "Where's your medical stuff, Quinn?" Please, for the love of god, don't need sutures.