Blood and bone and pride and self.

"Well," Billy drawls, like this isn't cinnamon talking and a reflection of how hell gets under your skin, rots you out. "He welcomed me here by fucking me in the ass. Granted," his head tilts, tone rolling like he's telling a really funny joke. "I was hopped up on cannibal viagra, but—" he skips over the squishier bits, the need, the horror, the anger, the shame, because it wasn't only the once. "He's a real cunt about it. Stabbed him last month. Turns out he's a serial killer back 'home.'"

"If you don't have a knife you should get one."