I stumble into the living room and look around. The place is a bigger mess than I am. There is no way I am going to get that stain out of the couch now. That mirror me was so wrong. Kirsten was just angry and people do stupid shit when they’re pissed off. I remember I once kicked my friend out of the house because he was being cheap while we were playing Mortal Kombat. Fucker kept doing the same move over and over again. What else was I supposed to do?
No, our relationship is great. This is just a little bump in the road. This whole knife thing isn’t going to mean much in the long run. I can imagine after our wedding being in our honeymoon suite, naked, laughing at the scar on my stomach. Our children and grandchildren wanting to hear the story constantly and the story itself is different every time. Kirsten rolling her eyes whenever I start in about it, sometimes interjecting her little comments into it. Hell, I won’t even have to wait that long. This is going to be a kick ass party story in a week when I’m up and running.
Back in the kitchen at the counter I pick up the bloody paper towels and start wrapping more around my stomach again. I don’t want to lose much more blood. It’s really amazing how much blood is in the human body. I don’t know if I’ve really lost a lot or if it just seems as though I have. I don’t think I’m up to the task of figuring out exactly how much blood has been spilled over the course of…how long ago did I get stabbed? I guess I should have checked because now I don’t know. The passing out didn’t help the situation. It was about midday when it happened and now the sun is kind of going down. 5 hours? Sure. Whatever, it’s not that important in the long run.
I put little bits of duct tape on this time instead of wrapping it around so I don’t constrict my breathing anymore. That aspirin must have kicked in because I don’t feel anything down there anymore. Things are looking up, Millhouse. I reach under the sink and grab my floor cleaner. I think the walls are so covered in blood that when this is over I’m just going to paint over the damned things. That’ll be the easier solution. Then, when I have to move out, I’ll paint again. I’m a genius. I turn on the sink and put a stopper in to hold the water and then add a cap of the neon green liquid floor cleaner. Immediately bubbles start popping out like fluffy clouds.
This gets me thinking that I haven’t taken a bath in a long time. I know it’s disgusting, floating around in my own filth, but I mean a relaxing bath. Just a soak sometime to get rid of my aches and pains. When this is all over I’m going to do just that. Maybe I’ll have Kirsten join me. That’d be romantic and a nice way to make up after this experience. I need to get back to being more romantic with her. I need to stop just telling her I love her and actually make an effort to show her. Words mean so little when they’re not backed up by action.
I open my eyes and the sink is overflowing. What the hell? It was just about half an inch deep a second ago. Fuck! I think I just blacked out. I quickly turn off the water and almost slip in the water. I steady myself and I’m actually quite frightened now. When are the problems going to go away? Am I going to spend the next day, week or so shaking and blacking out and vomiting? Maybe I can wait a while, a few days at the most, before I go to the doctors. That’s when I can say that I fell on something not as bad as a knife and there will be no suspicion. School will be a pain in the ass, but I figure with enough painkillers I can make it through the day. And I just won’t invite people back to my place until I get it cleaned up.