"I know," I whisper, pushing a hand through his hair, the other arm hooking around his shoulders, holding onto him tight.

"I know, Mike. It's okay," I murmur, my voice as thin and wavering as his. I can't fuckin' stand seein' him like this. I can't fuckin' stand not being able to do somethin' about it. I've never felt responsible for someone else, like this. I dunno what the fuck I'm supposed to do.