His Wounds

as reply to mckayla doesn't do birthdays

McKayla slopped the wet laundry on Johnnys linoleum counter top. 

“Jesus fucking Christ I’m freezing. And did your fucking neighbor drink this?”

She went and got the bottle of whiskey. 

“This wasn’t fucking open when I bought it.”

Johnny was too busy tending to his wounds. Not that it was likely be he always worried about sepsis. Always washed his hands and cleaned cuts or scrapes. 

“That floor is so disgusting probably hasn’t been cleaned in years.”

He scrubbed while he talked the wound had bits of fabric in it or mud or something. Grease he thought of just shoe dirt

What ever it was it made him wash a little harder. Like when he had to prepare for surgeries in his class. He didn’t have that special soap. He stopped briefly then looked around the room.

“What are you looking for?”

He went to his bathroom with soap all on his hands to forearms to elbow.

“Just trying to find this soap.”

There were things strewn about the apartment. The only thing neat was his work desk, McKayla found it an oasis in the rest of the mess. 

She went and sat there. Listening to him run water and wash his wounds.