He was breathing heavily and leaning up against my battered car. Through his torn shirt, I watched his wounds seal and fade to nothing. The skin over his ribs popped and cracked. Something must have been broken. Bruises faded, and he took a deep breath now that the pressure of broken bones was off his lungs. As I opened my mouth to speak, he leaned forward and turned me around to examine my head. “I’m fine, Will,” I said as he picked through my filthy hair. “You have glass in your hair.” He smoothed my hair back down. “I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t any stuck in the skin.” I laughed. “I think I would have noticed glass sticking out the back of my head.” He gave me a serious look. “It’s not funny. Wounds can’t heal if there is something blocking the skin from closing.” “Well, there’s nothing impaling my head. How are you?” “I need to eat.” “Looks like it.” I wiped at a streak of blood on his cheek. “Who the hell was that bat chick?”
