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“Sure.”
“I mean it, Hart. These cuts need to stay clean.”
“Okay, Doc. I’ll leave the bandaging on.”
“The butterflies on your head, too.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not going to get you to stay here, am I?”
“I want my own bed, Doc.”
He sighed. “Fine. But you text me when you get home, got it?”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay,Dad.”
“Make sure he texts me,” Doc said to Taavi, who chuffed.
I took my bloody, filthy clothes in a bag and limped my way back out to the car, Taavi in tow. He actually managed to get himself into the front—very awkwardly—and I was grateful to not have to bend over to pick him up.
He got himself out again, too, and then tried to get himself up three flights of stairs.
I let him get about four steps in before I hoisted him up, groaning a little as I did. He whined, but didn’t squirm to get down, thank God, since that would have just meant a world of pain for both of us.
I half-dropped him when we got to the top, then let us both into the apartment.
As soon as I had the door shut, Taavi barked at me.
I held up a hand. “Look, bud, I don’t understand what the fuck you’re saying to me, but I’m going to assume it has something to do with me being a fucking dumbass, and I don’t have the bandwidth to deal with that or you right now.” My voice cracked a little, surprising me. Even I hadn’t realized how fucking wrung out I was. I swallowed a couple times. “I need to eat something, because I haven’t, so I’m going to make some sad-ass fucking peanut butter and cheese sandwiches. You want one?”
He whined.
“Suit yourself.”
Leaving the bag of probably-needed-to-be-destroyed clothes by the door, I limped into the kitchen and pulled out the bread and peanut butter and set up a small assembly line. I put the peanut butter on the bread, then went into the fridge and pulled out pre-sliced cheese, because, as I’ve said, I’m a lazy motherfucker.
Tonight, I was glad I didn’t let my distaste for unnecessary packaging stop me from buying pre-sliced cheese because I was pretty sure I’d have lost a finger if I’d tried to use a knife. I took my sad stack of sandwiches into the living room and sank into the couch, wincing as my back hit the cushions.
Taavi sat on the floor in front of it and whined.
“You didn’t want one,” I told him.
He snorted at me, then whined again, looking at the couch.
I sighed, put down my plate on the end table, then helped Taavi onto the couch before settling down and flicking through my streaming queue. I settled onBack to the Futurebecause I wasn’t going to pay much attention and I just straight-up couldn’t deal with anything heavy or excessively violent.
I settled myself a little sideways and started the movie, carefully shifting to avoid putting too much pressure on my back, ending up half-reclined on my side.
Taavi whined again, then nosed around my legs, pushing them so that he could curl up behind my knees and set his head on my thigh.
“That good for you?” I asked him, pointedly.
Chuff.
I sighed. “At least one of us is comfortable.”
He whined.
