"Maybe," Anna asserts - again, toothily, but this time with a pronounced sharpness rather than the flighty cheekiness of earlier - "I just don't like talking to them."
Policemen, in case Seth weren't privy to the clench of association that comes with Well Meaning Adults. If she's a bird, then suddenly for a second it's as though all the soft feathers have been stripped away, leaving only razor-tipped feathers meant for the silent, lethal speed of flight, killing talons and dark eyes large enough and bright enough to take in the whole night. "I am fine," she adds, and there at least Seth can count that this is not a lie. She might have been uncomfortable before, but it's gone now, or at least subsumed deeply enough that he'd have to start scratching to find it.
"This is going to suck for you, though," she informs him in directing the wheelchair to the sink, where the water has run hot enough that with soap to accompany it, any potential infection will be scraped and burnt out like foreign fibers.
Speaking of which, she leans back against the sink and indicates his tightly wrapped hand with the tip of her head; her hands stay in front of her. There's the suggestion in her posture that if it wouldn't involve touching the (pushed up) sleeves of her jacket and therefore undoing the handwashing that just occurred, she'd have her arms crossed, in the sense of 'defensiveness' being literal rather than emotional. "Time to lose the towel."
'Like ripping off a bandaid' is just too easy so she doesn't bother, but ...at least he can pick whether he divests himself of his makeshift bandage or she does. Yay?