I cling to the surgical blade hard as though my soul depends on it. I move far away from him, while he continues to groan as he tugs back, staggering to the bed like seven feet away from me.
He hisses in pain as he stares at his hand, at the small cut open on his ankle with blood dripping on the floor. He looks up at me and I position myself in a ready mood. He scoffs and trails his eyes to the tray on the left nightstand which parks close to me.
He surprises me by putting his ankle to his mouth, he closes his eyes and by the time he drops the hand, it's white with no trace of blood. He picks the bandage tape.
"You're different." that he says and starts working on his ankle with the bandage.
As he finishes, he jolts up and matches out in his plain slip-on, which is more of a relief that there is no boot.
