[He keeps scratching, until his skin feels raw under the threadbare shirt. When he speaks, it is slow and halting, like he is trying to unearth each word from something heavy that it is buried under.]
Because. I do not want to die here. In this city. Alone.
[But that's not quite all of it, is it? This pause is longer.]
no subject
Because. I do not want to die here. In this city. Alone.
[But that's not quite all of it, is it? This pause is longer.]
Knowing that you still hate me, like this.