"He came after me with kitchen shears." He hates saying it, realizes as he does that it's the first time he's said it aloud. Making it solid and real. He gestures to the scabbed cut under his left eye. "I had to hit him. To knock him out. And since then I've been thinking what if he dies and the last time I saw him he was--"

It comes out in a rush and chokes off hard as he squeezes his eyes shut again. He'd wondered if he'd feel any better with all of that poison out.

He doesn't.