Alessa did as she was told, too worn out to protest. Once she had sat on the bed she wanted to lay down, and go to sleep. She thought that perhaps she could sleep for a very long time, and not have to deal with anything for a while. She knew that wasn't possible though, and all she could do was stay awake. Death didn't seem to be possible for the young woman; she silently cursed herself for her own stupidity. But for the most part she waited for LaCroix to come back.
And he did, with a wet washcloth in his hand. She didn't say or do anything when he sat down, but when the washcloth made contact with the wounds she flinched a little; not so much from pain, but more from the shock of feeling something different around that area. It didn't last long, and eventually she stayed relatively calm while he tended to her wounds.
"Only you and Heather would have been. Maybe my dad." She let out a sigh. Her eyes were starting to droop, and she found it hard to stay awake. "Tired. Shouldn't have drank anything."