well, and of course i'd walked by the knife several dozen times on various occasions, thinking that's dangerous, and we'd even joked about how it would impale the burglar when he broke in and flailed around the kitchen. a couple of times, i'd turned it over, but tam seems to think they dry better point-up, and they're her knives so i let it be.

if it'd been me, i'd've been hollering at the top of my lungs, but all dante did was swear a bit and stomp about harder than usual. the blood ran down and down his arm, splattered on his shirt, the floor, the sink, the walls, soaked through the tourniquet i was afraid to tie too tightly, smeared on his face as his eyelids fluttered and he told me not to worry. tam was terribly calm on the phone with 9-1-1, explaining no, no, it was an accident, and the medics from ambulance with neatly braided hair suggested he bring a coat and a new shirt to change into.

all inside i felt tight and blind, helpless even to this small terror, my limbs too long and my veins itching.