“You were right, Gibs,” I groaned. “I’m so screwed.” “I am?” His brows shot up in surprise. “About what?” Before I had a chance to respond, his eyes widened in comical awareness. “About you fucking yourself?” Or at least, it would have been comical if it wasn’t so fucking depressing. “Holy shit, Johnny. You haven’t or you can’t?” “I tried, I failed, I haven’t tried since, so now I’m fairly sure I can’t,” I decided to throw out there.
