Jerome hissed as his shoulder twinged in pain, the ginger watching the flames lick at the fireplace. There was a certain feel to the apartment he and Barbara shared, a sense of belonging he had only felt in Arkham and even then it was temporary until he was planning his escape again. It was one of the few places in his mind not tainted by blood and fear.
It was nice while it lasted.
He downed a shot of whatever was in the closest bottle before turning the knife over in his hand, his other dislodging the staples in his shoulder, keeping everything together. The shot glass shattered on the floor, the brief, bright cracking of glass his only soundtrack. Another breathless laugh before he started to pry the metal fragments out of his shoulder, blood running down his back in warm streams. Sawing through half-healed scar tissue and scabs alike. He knew from experience it wouldn’t heal properly if it stayed lodged in his flesh, the multitude of scars littering his torso testament enough. Jerome could already catalogue the amount of muscle damage he would have, the sheer destruction he caused. A gasp as the bullet finally fell out onto the floor, a dull thud as it finally hit the wood. Funny. Something that caused so much damage didn’t deserve such an understated exit.
-- & Truth be told she hadn't expected Jerome to take care of the wound that she had inflicted but she certainly hadn't expected him to let it get this bad ether. To witness him digging into his own flesh in an attempt to fetch the bullet from his skin, to realize he'd been so fucking STUPID enough to patch himself up with the lack of appropriate reasonings. "Staples." Her voice breaks softer than normal tone, a shake of her head as bare feet carry her towards him. "What is with you and staples." Had no one ever taught him how to use a needle and thread -- ah, this was JEROME after all.
Heavy sigh leaves from her, staring at the blood creeping down against his skin; and god damn it if this stains the rug she's going to make him find a new one. Steal it, take it from the rations the town has built up -- she doesn't care. She WILL have a new one. "Jerome, you LEFT it in your shoulder this entire time?" Christ. Eye roll as a hand reaches forward, thumb brushing over some of his blood as it rolls from the newly established wound. "You probably have a fucking infection no."
She shouldn't be surprised, after all this is the same man that tried to staple his god damn face back on. "Stay." Even if he doesn't, it's not going to be hard to find him once more as she quickly leaves the room if only to grab the small first aid kit she'd tucked away in the bathroom the MINUTE Jerome had become her new room mate. "You should know, I'm not going to be happy if you end up sick with infection and can't do shit for a week." Barbara mutters coming back into the room, only to all but plop herself in front of him. "This is going to hurt, I have to clean it and so help me GOD J if you complain I will make this worse for you."