The thing is no longer deterred by it. It returns to slurp at the pulp of my wound.

“No!” I’m screaming. “No!”

Blood bubbles from my mouth. A sobering cold begins to inch its way through me. Everything darkens.

“No!” I sputter the word into multiple syllables. My mouth is flooding, tongue drowning in thick tangy blood.

It pulls away fast, taking some of me with it between its teeth. Strips of my skin dangle from its fangs. It stands and turns toward the sky, toward the dark of it. Fat clouds shroud the moon. It’s completely lost, concealed from view.

My whimpering returns its attention to me. It looks down at me and cocks its head to the side. The movement has a certain innocence about it.

But then the clouds pass, and the moonlight returns with its menacing sheen. The thing growls at me, its thin lips rippling, gory fangs bared.

And just as it descends toward me, another animal decides to hurry by, maybe thinking the predator is preoccupied. Whatever the animal is, it must be more appealing, because the thing dashes after it, leaving me alone in the clearing, in a patch of bright silvery moonlight.

My breath collapses. I try to tilt my head down to see how bad it is. My entire side is covered in blood. It’s been gnawed. Bitten. Butchered. The violence of it weakens me. Maybe it’s the blood loss, or it could be the profound devastation over having had this done to me, having been vandalized in this way.

The carelessness, the disregard for my body, for my life. It’s robbed me of my strength, my resolve. I let my eyes close without the faith I’ll open them again.

—

I’m awakened by a rough pink tongue slobbering over my face. My drowsiness is slow to fade, my consciousness faltering.

A yell ruptures my stupor. I’m abruptly, terribly aware of my circumstance. There’s a smiling spaniel panting just above me, and beyond it stands a woman in running clothes with her hands covering her mouth, horrified by the sight of me.

“Are you okay?” she asks, hysterical. “Are you okay?”

It’s such a stupid question.

My voice is hoarse, but I manage to speak.

“I don’t fucking know,” I say. “Call nine-one-one.”

II

Scarlett doesn’t say hello. I don’t see her come in. She just appears, her long blue hair in a perfect braid draped over her shoulder. Her roots are dark, her dye job growing out for the first time in forever. She wears all black. Patent leather jacket, coordinating combat boots with the buckles. Her bump is obscured by a flowy tunic. She looks me over, tapping a black coffin nail on her naked bottom lip. No makeup. That’s the tell.

“You should see the bear,” I say.

“I did. It’s in the other room telling the police you hit first. Is that true?”

“Can neither confirm nor deny.”

“All this over some honey,” she says in her cool, enigmatic tone. I like to think that’s exactly how I sound.