"No shit," I grin, grabbing soap and a clean washcloth and sitting down on the edge of the tub.

As soon as he gets settled, I start washing his shoulders, the hollow of his throat, his neck, softening the new scab on his throat, again. The blood runs pink rivulets down his neck, pooling in the hollow of his collarbone. Leaning forward, a little precarious on the edge of the tub, I bend over him and catch the flow of blood with my tongue.