I dragged Henry to the place where we smashed the skinny guy and his friends because I desperately needed a cigarette.
Again, he didn't talk, apparently knowing when to speak or not, but that also meant he would also speak, knowing when it was unwanted, like when he deliberately annoyed me.
But now he wasn't annoying at all. Just a silent big dog guarding his owner—the one with the messed-up head.
I thought it would help me to go under hypnosis, but instead, I was greeted by tears and, not long after that, with paranoia.
Why the hell is nothing working in my favor?
And now I am hearing the man screaming again, far away this time, but I knew it was just my head playing games on me.
I am losing myself, and I am terrified because one can see what is at the end of the road when one looks at my depraved counterparts.
When we pushed the door open, which had been left ajar by a brick, and stood on the grass, I conjured up two cigarettes, giving one to Henry, who took it.
