"Milk.." Trenton wasn't asking for a glass, the word was sallow with amused disbelief. Was this fucker serious? Who the hell drank glasses of milk except Nazi interrogators or preschoolers having a luncheon with goldfish crackers and fruit snacks? Laughing to himself, Trenton crammed the heels of his hands against the sockets of his eyes. "Christ, that's bleak."
Peeling his hands away with a note of resolution, Trenton looked at the ceiling for a moment before speaking. "I was stabbed the other night." Sitting up and taking refuge at one side of the couch, he watched the doctor for reaction.