"I figured it didn't matter," he says, hollowly, bloodless. Abruptly he rolls away, onto his back and slightly toward the wall. Everything's tensing as all his careful avoidance mechanisms break down one by one and he imagines white cells broken open and disintegrating. He thought he hadn't cared. Now he's terrified. But in that terror he sees something that might lead the way out of it, and he grabs for it. I don't want to die.

I don't want you to, either.

"I just. I don't." He makes a sound, a harsh moan of frustration, and looks back at Neil again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, it's fucked up."