"Please don't tell anybody," he says, staring down at the knife. He remembers Neil's face when he'd been talking about all the sympathy, the worried looks and the assurances that everything would be fine, and he doesn't want that. It's not the same thing, not even close, but he remembers looking out from behind a mask of skin grafts and pain at a cheerful nurse chattering about something, and wanting to grab her by the throat and slam her into a fucking wall.

It's better if no one knows. At least for now.