Yes I play, and seriously? Hang on. [She steps back, away from his hands and towards the nightstand. Her good arm slips out of the shirt and she pulls it over her head, slowing down to peel the fabric away from the fucked up arm while hissing out obscenities in Russian the entire time. It's worse than it was. She still doesn't want him to touch it. The drawer of the nightstand is opened to reveal a roll of bandages and she tries to wrap her arm with one hand. At least it's only from her wrist to her elbow?]

Told you, dude. Mood killer.