Not looking at her legs, not looking at her legs...

"Yes," Wesley said, clearing his throat against his hand and looking away. He only had the vaguest sense of how he must look -- he knew there was a cut on his lip, since he'd split that himself, and he was vaguely aware of the bruised ribs and injuries on his chest and stomach, but he didn't know about the cut on his cheek or the smaller abrasions on his neck. "I didn't -- that is, I don't mean to trouble you with any of this, truly, I just..."

Felt really shitty? Yeah, Wes. That was clear.