I reach out and take his hand. His fingers slide between mine. I can't breathe.

Trust me when I tell you, Eaton boy, that resisting is worth doing.

Nothing else is all right.” His whisper tickles my cheek. “But we are.

Sometimes,” he says, sliding his arm across my shoulders, “people just want to be happy, even if it’s not real.

I get the strange urge to hit my head against the wall. Other people's sobs make me feel uncomfortable.

That's the first time I've ever said those words out loud, and now I hear how strange they are. How many young men fear that there is a monster instead them? People are supposed to fear others, not themselves.

I suppose that now would be the time to ask for forgiveness for all the things I've done, but I'm sure my list would never be complete. I also don't believe that whatever comes after life depends on my correctly reciting a list of my transgressions...I don't believe that what comes after depends on anything I do at all.