I get back on my feet and sway a bit. My eyes refuse to focus on the counter and I desperately need to find the paper towels. My stomach is still bleeding a lot and I don’t think it can start to heal yet. The paper towels will stem the bleeding and then I will be okay. Squinting, I finally manage to bring a focus to my life. At my feet there are smears of deep crimson. I guess I thrashed around too much when I was on the floor. When I finally find the paper towels I grab them quickly and start wrapping them around my stomach. It hurts moving my arms this much, but I know that the benefits outweigh the costs.
After a few wrappings I realize my problem: the paper towels aren’t going to stay on very well by themselves. I would think that the blood would hold them on like pieces of toilet paper when I cut myself shaving, but I don’t think that’ll happen in this case. Duct tape! That’s the ticket! Christ, how could I forget? I’m a guy! The only two tools I keep in my house are duct tape and WD-40. If it’s stuck and it’s supposed to move: WD-40. If it moves and it’s not supposed to: Duct tape. In the junk drawer I find the gray tape and pick it up. Applying the tape is a bit more difficult than wrapping the paper towels. My hands are shaking too bad to pull the end off and get some tape. Why the fuck can’t I concentrate on this?! Why won’t my body work?! I start crying again as I slam the tape on the edge of the counter. Finally I can’t do it anymore. I almost hurl the tape, but I remember I need it. Leaning against the counter I try to regain my composure. Tears flow out of my eyes and I try breathing deeply. With the paper towels around me I can’t get too much air in my body. I guess that’s just as well because if I breathe too much I’ll hurt my wound again.
Regaining my composure I focus on getting the tape out before the paper towels fall off. My hands have managed to stop shaking and I pull out about a foot of tape and apply it to my midsection. I hope this holds on because the blood has already begun seeping through my makeshift bandages. I accidentally pat the tape down right on my wound and swear at my own stupidity. After I am sure that it is in place I begin wrapping it around my body like I did the paper towels. I manage to get it four times around before I can’t do it anymore. My arms just won’t function. That’s when I get the scissors from the drawer and cut the end off and pat it down. There. MacGyver couldn’t have done better if he had gotten stabbed in the stomach.
Now what do I do? Do I clean up? Try to come up with an excuse why I have this horrible wound that does not involve my girlfriend and my knife? Wait! I should call Kirsten and apologize. That’s the first step to putting this whole ugly mess behind us. I reach for the phone, but recoil when I see how bloody my hand is. No, the first step of action should be to clean this horrible mess up. They can’t convict her of a crime if there’s not evidence. I turn on the sink and start scrubbing to get my hands clean. It takes five minutes and almost half my bottle of soap but I manage to get it all off, even from under the fingernails. Now my hands are just red from the scrubbing and hot water, not blood, which is a good thing.
What’s next? Should I mop the floor or try to clean the blood off the counters. Counters definitely. Work from top to bottom. The chemicals are under the sink. Shit. I brace myself and bend over. There is tightness and a bit of soreness, but mostly the pain has faded. Have I cut off the blood supply or am I going into shock for real this time? I finally manage to grab the bottle of all purpose cleaner and stand up. I nearly fall backwards because of the dizziness. Should I drink water to replenish my fluids? Should I drink Gatorade because it’s better than water? Is drinking something going to make me sicker or better? I should have a book about this. Like those Worst Case Scenario books. The only one they had, though, was the college handbook and I really didn’t need to know how to do a keg stand. I already knew how to do that.