Kain Locke
Without waiting for him to cooperate, I grabbed his shirt and yanked it off, exposing his back.
However, my stomach twisted at the sight.
The wounds were worse than I thought. Deep, raw, and inflamed, some of them looked like they'd been torn open again. But what really got me was the pattern, the jagged, overlapping lines that looked like they'd been made by something cruel, something meant to tear into flesh and make sure it hurt.
Something like a steel rod pipe with spikes on it.
I didn't see it properly the other time he was taking off his shirt for a shower, but seeing it up close, I can't help but wonder who the hell did this to him?
I swallowed, my fingers twitching at my sides. I told myself I didn't care. I didn't. But if these wounds weren't treated, they'd only get worse even Infected.
And for some reason, the thought of him getting worse, of him suffering like this made my chest tighten in a way I didn't want to acknowledge.
