“How long?” “Mas—” “How. Long.” Blowing out a breath, I say, “It doesn’t ma—” “Of course it fucking matters!” he explodes.
“It matters, Jeremy. You hurting yourself matters,” he grits out. “I’m not…” He whirls on me. “You’re not what? Hurting yourself?” He gestures angrily at my arm. “How is slicing your skin open not hurting yourself?” “I told you—” “You want it out. Yeah, I heard you.” He shakes his head, a humorless laugh escaping him. “What do you want out?”
