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Summary
Eddie doesn't particularly like the smell of blood.
However, he's growing awfully used to it.
It’s what he’s choosing to focus on. The smell of it. How it burns his nose. Clings heavy in his throat and fills his lungs with its thick, metallic haze.
That is, when he can breathe.
It’s awful hard to breathe.
But he’s trying. God fucking damn it, he’s trying. And it hurts worse than anything, worse than the bites or the torn flesh or the aching all over. It burns worse than the smell. He can’t tell if it’d be easier to breathe through his nose or his mouth, so he just sort of heaves with his mouth open and hopes that air gets in somehow.
He might be dying.
Steve says he’s not dying, very insistent on that, in fact, but Eddie’s not sure if he believes him.