She begins picking through the bottles.
Allegra comes in a couple of minutes later.
“Well, aren’t you a sight?” she says.
“The good news is that I feel worse than I look.”
“That’s hard to imagine.”
She puts down her bag and looks at my shoulder and side.
“I can’t see anything through all that plastic. Take it off.”
“I’m just going to start bleeding again.”
“Then get in the tub first.”
I slice everything off with the black blade. My blood has gone from burned motor oil to the color of squid ink. There is no way for it to get darker, which, in its own weird way, is a relief.
Allegra frowns as she looks at my wounds.
“Does that hurt?” she says over and over.
“I told you. I can’t feel much of anything.”
“Your skin feels like soft cheese.”
“That’s very reassuring, doctor.”
She gives me a look.
“Normally, I’d try to keep things simple, sew you up or cauterize the wound, but I’m not sure your skin can handle either of those.”
“Is there anything you can do?”
“I have a potion that might stop the bleeding.”
“Try it. I’m sick of leaking like an inflatable sex sheep.”
Allegra looks up at me. “Do they really have those?”
“Right down the aisle from the pancake-shaped Fleshlights.”
“Now I know you’re making stuff up.”
“Everybody likes a good breakfast. Some people want to make sweet, sweet love to it.”
“I’m not going to ask how you know that.”
From the sink, Brigitte says, “I’m sorry, Jimmy. I can’t find anything.”
“That’s okay. It was a long shot.”
“What are you looking for?” Allegra asks her.
“A restorative of some kind.”
Allegra looks at me.