“Vaseline’s in the medicine cabinet in my bathroom,” Caleb said as he looked to Happy, signaling him to go grab it. Then, his eyes glanced up to Lola as she offered to help.

“If you think you could do a better job than Happy,” he began with a smirk, “then by all means.” He could still feel the warmth of fresh blood dripping down the back of his head to his neck, and he used the white shirt he had been wearing to wipe it off, and when he accidentally brushed the fabric against the gash in his head, he winced. “Jesus,” he mumbled. “He shoulda just knocked me out.”

He pointed towards the kitchen. “There’s vodka in the freezer if you need to sterilize it. And in the spare bedroom, there’s a first aid kit. I don’t like doctors.” He got up from the couch, not wanting to bleed on the leather, and sat himself up on a bar stool that was tucked under the kitchen counter, and he sat on it backwards so that he could lean against the back. 

“Try not to disfigure me,” he spoke quietly with a chuckle. “This ugly mug can’t take much more damage.”