I sigh contentedly. “You just get me.” “I just don’t want to hear you complaining about it all morning.” “I don’t complain…” I retort. “That much.” “Sure you don’t, Scratch. You done with that itch, yet?” I frown down at my hand that’s still scratching the non-existent itch on my arm. It just does it on its own now. Call it self-preservation.
