"Well," he hesitated and in the tradition of a nervous gesture he'd never even known to be his own, Trenton pushed fingers his dark hair. "Not exactly."
Pinning jaunted elbows to his knees and folding the cut of his knuckles against his jaw, Trenton observed the doctor, wordless while he scrounged for something sensible to say. "Is there- I mean, is it dangerous if-" Getting nowhere, he forced himself back against the couch with a huff, exasperated.
"I don't know what happened. I almost died, but then I didn't." Trenton couldn't say why he was telling this to a complete stranger, other than he felt compelled to talk to somebody. And his resident prostitute/counselor was missing in action, who else did he have? Fuck, that was depressing. His only legitimate confidant these days was a tranny hooker? Oh, how the mighty have fallen.