Then Ivan grips my chin and tilts my face up to the light. “You’re hurt.”
“I didn’t see it before. You didn’t say anything. You’re bleeding.”
“I am?” I try to reach for my face, but he pushes my hand away.
“I need bandages,” he barks towards the kitchen. “Now!”
I’m not in pain. I don’t see blood dripping anywhere. Am I in shock? Maybe it all happened so fast that I didn’t feel it. I’ve heard about that happening with stab wounds. People don’t realize until minutes later that they were stabbed at all.
But Francia didn’t have a knife in her hand, did she? If she stabbed me in the head, I like to think I’d know.
“Is it just a cut? Do you think I need stitches?”
Ivan pushes me back to my chair. My knees buckle when they hit the seat, and I drop down. “I’ll take care of you. You’ll be ok
