Darien hesitates for an eternity before even touching her. Then, gingerly, he lifts her injured arm, wincing when she whimpers softly in pain. "Sorry," he breathes. "Just… hold on."
His fingers are shaking when he unbuttons what's left of her blouse. He does it way too slowly. One button at a time, like he's trying to disarm a bomb.
Don't look. Don't look. Don't look.
He looks and immediately regrets the moment he decides to help her. There's a scratch on her collarbone, and for some reason, that small detail nearly brings him to his knees. He shrugs the ruined shirt off her shoulders and catches himself staring at the swell of her chest rising and falling, her skin dusted in faint bruises that are nearly finished healing.
"Freaking hell, I'm going to die," he hisses under his breath.
