“It’s fine,” he says, turning away. But it’s not fucking fine. He’s twisted up and I somehow did the twisting. “Mars, come on,” I plead, following after him. “You can’t be mad about something I said while I was drugged out of my mind—” “I said it’s fine. I hold nothing against you. I’m not mad. I’m nothing.” I drop my hand to my side, heart racing as I search his face. Why do I get the feeling that I had something and just lost it? “Mars—”
