“You can’t—you can’t take me to a hospital,” he said, words still a little slurred. “No insurance.” “Oh,” was all Wesley could manage. Vincent thought Wes was helping him. But of course he would. Why else would Wesley have loaded his unconscious body into a car, after playing video games with him, laughing with him, messaging with him like it was his job, finding blood for him, caring about him? Why would it occur to someone as genuine and good hearted as Vincent that all of that had just been a scam? Particularly, when not all of it was.
