Doesn’t matter now; it’s infected,I said. “No, it’s not.”
“You see this red?” I pointed at the inflamed skin on either side of the wound. “That’s infection. That’s a big problem.”
I rarely let anyone see my finger without the Band-Aid, but I wanted Daisy to understand.
This was not like the other times. This was not irrational worry,
because dried blood was unusual, even for when the callus was cracked open.
It meant the Band-Aid had been on for way too long. This was not normal.
Then again, didn’t it always feel different? No, this felt different from the other differents. There was visible evidence of infection.
“It looks like your finger has looked every single time you’ve ever worried about it.”
I squeezed some hand sanitizer onto the cut, felt a deep, stinging burn, unwrapped a new Band-Aid, and wrapped it around my finger.
I sat there for a while, embarrassed, wishing I were alone, but also terrified.
Couldn’t get the redness and the swelling out of my mind, my skin responding to the invasion of parasitic bacteria.
Hated myself. Hated this. “Hey,” Daisy said. She put a hand on my knee. “Don’t let Aza be cruel to Holmesy, okay?”
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