Shit. Totally blanked out again. Half the bottle of cleaner is empty now and the couch is soaked. Will nothing go right today? What the fuck? Ok, calm down, this’ll be okay. It’s cleaner, all it will do is…clean more? Whatever. I’ll just get some more paper towels and it’ll soak up the excess fluid. Maybe later I’ll use Kirsten’s hair dryer to finish cleaning it up. I turn around to go to the kitchen and stop in my tracks. On the wall are two bloody handprints. I guess they’re from when I almost fell on my face earlier. It’s kind of cool in a way. Artistic really. Maybe it’ll be cool. When this is done I’ll have a good conversation starter. I could put a frame around it and it would be the coolest decoration on campus. Much better than all those losers who have the Animal House or Scarface posters they sell every year on the quad. I’ll be unique.
For the first time since I got stabbed I smile and walk into the kitchen. I reach for the paper towels before I remember that I should get some water. In my fridge I pull out one of the three water bottles I keep in there at all times. This one advises me that only I can prevent forest fires. If only Kirsten knew how powerful I am. Only I can prevent forest fires. Me. Maybe my next power will be the power to prevent being stabbed. I snap the top off and take a big gulp. Before I know I’ve finished the whole bottle. And that’s when a whole new set of problems develop.
The pain in my stomach intensifies beyond anything I’ve felt today. It’s a combination of both cold and hot. Immediately I can feel my stomach rejecting the water and the tugging at the back of my throat. I make an ill-planned dash to the bathroom. I can’t really run, so it’s an awkward shamble at fast speed. I can feel the wound rip a little more, but the pain doesn’t stop me. I open the lid of the toilet and let loose the contents of my stomach. I’ve seen horror movies less scary. Blood isn’t so bad until it’s your own, no matter where it comes from.
What comes up is more watery than blood, but still just as dark. The light crimson liquid quickly turns the toilet water the same color and this just makes me sicker. I hope I don’t puke up any bits of myself, but I don’t think that’s likely. Eventually the flood stops. Throwing up hurt terribly, but not really any worse than what’s already happened. It took me slightly less time to throw up the water than it did to drink it. How joyous. I reach up and flush the toilet. The horrid liquid swirls around before it finally disappears and is replaced by crystal clear water. Now it seems as though the event never even happened. It could have left a ring to remind me the rest of my life. Instead of the normal queasy feeling after throwing up I just feel the knife wound.
I put my hands on the rim of the toilet and try to push up. This time it is not my arms that trip me up, but my hands. They fail to grip and I fall forward and bang my head on the edge of the toilet, knocking me unconscious.
Crazy, half-remembered images swirl around in my head in a clichéd way that’d you expect in a dream because you’ve seen it so often. The scene is a picnic Kirsten and I went on when we first started dating and we didn’t have any problems. I had not yet gotten out of my romantic phase that I was in when I was courting her, so I would still do shit like delivering roses or cooking dinners to be eaten over candlelight. I still do that occasionally, but not as much. This was a picnic to one of the more secluded parts of a city park that she loved. There were flowers in bloom all around us and it was beautiful, but I was only focused on her. I looked deeply into her brilliant green eyes and smiled. Then she reached into the basket, pulled out a knife and stabbed me in the eye.