Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

N A T
A
fter the shower, I pour Kage a whiskey and make
him sit at the kitchen table, where the light is good.
Then I get a needle and thread from my sewing kit,
hydrogen peroxide from the bathroom cabinet, a small cotton
towel, and gauze pads.
Standing in front of him, looking at this huge, tattooed
man sitting in my kitchen chair wearing only the pair of gray
sweats I bought for him as a gift, I’m filled with a sudden
burning bright happiness. It’s blinding, like I’m staring into the
sun.
To manage it without blurting something foolish, I say, “I
don’t have any tape.”
Lounging in the chair like the king of libertines, he takes a
swig of the whiskey, licks his lips, and smiles at me. “For
what?”
“The bandages. I can’t glue them on, I need medical tape.”
“Do you have any duct tape?”
“I’m not putting duct tape on you! That stuff’s industrial
strength! It’ll rip your skin off when you remove it!”
He looks at the sewing kit in my hand. “You’ll stitch me
up with cotton thread that’s going to degrade and give me an
infection so I’ll die from sepsis, but you draw the line at duct
tape?”
I stare at the thread in dismay. “Oh crap. What should I
use, then?”