𝒜 𝐻𝒶𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝐸𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉

13 - 𝐵𝓊𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓅𝓇𝑜𝑜𝒻

She rifles through the cabinet's contents and eventually pulls out a roll of bandage, along with some medical tape and an alcohol wipe, before taking a seat on the lid of the toilet, sliding her shoe off of her left foot, and inwardly cringing at the sight of blood as it consistently leaks through the cloth still wrapped snuggly around her ankle. Thanks a lot, Wisteria. She peels away the crimson-stained strip of bandaging, glancing around briefly and spotting a small trash can beside the sink counter; carelessly tossing it into the bag folded inside before returning her attention to her bite.

Though it still doesn't look as bad as it had prior to Jack cleaning and dressing it for her, the dark red liquid draining through the open teeth marks makes it seem two times worse than it really is. Ignoring the queasy feeling beginning to take root in her stomach, she lays everything but the wipe on the edge of the acrylic bathtub in front of her, crosses her leg over the other, and bends down to get a better view of the area. The longer she looks at it, the more she dislikes Jeff's stupid dog, but more so Jeff himself, as the dog was only doing what it was told. Technically, the dog isn't the one she should blame​​​​​​–his owner is because it was his fault Smile jumped her in the first place. And did he seem at all concerned about the damage he indirectly caused her in the process?

Nope. In fact, he took amusement and great pride in her pain, and she would most definitely not mind punching him in the face if ever she receives the chance. From what she's collected Jeff doesn't exactly seem like a favored member of this 'group' that he's a part of, so maybe with some convincing, she could get backup from some of the others, namely Jack, since he's the only one that she's met so far that she feels the tiniest bit comfortable around. He doesn't seem like the violent type, though, so maybe she'll have to find somebody else that's willing to assist her.

As soon as the damp material makes contact with her punctured flesh, a sharp stinging sensation breaks through her ankle all the way up to her knee, and she has to conceal the whimper of pain that threatens to escape her lips by chewing her tongue and suffering in silence. Brian doesn't appear to be a very pleasant person by any standards if the short but sweet "I will shoot you" monologue was any indicator of that, and one of the last things that she wants to do is make him think that she's weak and incapable of caring for herself. She's already at a disadvantage as it is, what with being forced to stay in the same house with a total stranger, being warned to basically not do anything otherwise she'd catch a bullet between the eyes, and being temporarily crippled and unable to run away.

Gently, she strokes the wound with the cloth, the alcohol that it's coated with making the pain only continue to worsen, and she winces. The blood clings onto the fabric and efficiently cleans the area, giving her the opportunity to pick up the roll of bandage and begin to swathe it around her ankle. Once it's thoroughly wrapped, she tears off a piece of tape (struggling a bit due to the thickness of its material), and sticks it onto the end in order to make sure it doesn't come off when she's trying to walk. Her gaze falls past her leg down to the floor, taking instant notice of the minuscule drops of blood that have made their way to the ceramic tiles below her feet, and an indignant huff ensues forth from her nose.

She does not want to be here, but until she can figure out a feasible, non-lethal path to liberation, she's stuck in this house, owned by an intimidating masked man with a gun. This vacation was supposed to be relaxing; it was supposed to give her a reprieve from her neglectful, careless parents, but instead, she somehow landed herself in the middle of the forest around a bunch of dangerous-looking psychos and no way of freedom. She blows a strand of hair away that had been dangling in front of her eyes and scoops up the unused supplies, standing and placing them back into the cabinet where she found them and softly shutting it afterward.

She tries to avoid seeing her reflection, knowing already that she must look worse for wear and not really finding it in her heart to care all that much. She isn't around anyone that she's trying to impress. Why look good when you could inevitably die anyway? Gripping the edge of the counter and leaning against it, she stares down into the sink, contemplating the situation over and over and over, trying to come to terms with it, though finding it exceedingly difficult. The only thing she can really do is wait it out, see what happens, and if an opportunity to leave presents itself, then she'll snatch it up without hesitance. She has a family to get back to, people who actually love her.