He laughs, bitter and stopping just short of nasty. The way she says it, it sounds like a fixable problem, and all it does is highlight just how really unfixable it feels.

"It's not the exact same thing," he says. "It's... I wish to Christ it was that fucking simple." I died. I still feel half dead. I feel like death is running through my blood and I could infect him with it.

He looks over at her, briefly and completely at a loss. "Why are you even fucking talking to me like this?"