Dorian felt a lot like he was a bad dog with his tail between his legs; He knew what he did was wrong while he was doing it, but for whatever reason his impulses just took over. His hand was still bandaged but he'd been working with it anyways. That's what he did, he used his hands for everything and he knew it. So every so often while he was in the bathroom he would pour some rubbing alcohol over the wounds so they wouldn't get infected. He would wince in pain, but just recover them, and he took every ounce of pain with relief. HE was still there, things were still real, things were still in control. He carried the supplies to Marisol's door and set them all down to go back to his car for his tools. When he came back, to his relief it was still all there and he knocked on the frame of the door after looking around a little.
From behind his thick shades everything was a whole lot darker, but he could make out her small frame when she opened the door, "Hey." He nodded his head and picked the things around him up, he would have to make another trip to the front door. "Just like I said." He held up the vanity inside the box still and scratched the back of his head a little looking ashamed of himself. "Can I come in already?"