“It looks really bad,” Michael blurts out. His flimsy brain-to-mouth censor is practically nonexistent at this point. He doesn’t want to think Lee’s lying to him, he doesn’t want to accuse her of that; maybe she honestly doesn’t realize what’s happened to her. Maybe she feels a little better now, but what if she gets worse later?
“Look, come back with me, okay?” he pleads nervously. “Lee. Neshomeh. We can sleep, or take a bath, or anything, any of that stuff. Please. I’m not kidding, I can’t stand you being like this, you have blood on you! You need to get that off, it’s terrible, please.” It sounds like he’s about to cry.