Gripping his head and realizing that he was wearing the rags finally, he turned to go pick up his coat instead. That much he could do. He was only thankful that the black fabric easily masked any sign of blood, so he couldn't tell if it had gotten stained. He hung it carefully over his bed railing and then moved his shoes to the side.
"Oh, clean cut, lucky me," he mumbled sarcastically. She might've been proud of it, but he wanted to question where she even learned to make a clean cut when it came to removing an eyeball. If she had cut off his whole head he wouldn't have been asking. "You must do this to all of the guys." He wasn't sure why that bothered him either. He couldn't even stand to look back up at her from where he was standing.
So, he turned and sat down on the side of his bed. She was right about him not being able to afford a doctor. Even if he hadn't spent the money to by her an outfit, he still probably would've come short. Doctors always seemed to have the best method for simultaneously making money and picking off the weakest members of society. Thankfully, though poor, he was usually more creative when he was sick or injured. He just sort of always pulled through. However, he was unfamiliar with the kind of injury he had. He wasn't an idiot and knew he had to do something. That didn't mean he was happy about it. "Well, what should we patch it up with then? Beef stew?" Sarcasm was the best medicine.