Time to end this.

The skylight beckons, and you sit up silently in bed.

You’re not sure what you’re going to do. You just can’t lie there, knowing he’s won.

And once he discovers the doctors have managed to treat your HIV…

**** might be the only thing that keeps you and Emma safe after that.

You pad over to the chair, lifting it with a grunt of effort and positioning it under the skylight.

Nah, fuck keeping us safe. That’s not what this is about.

You climb up carefully, favouring your one good leg. A familiar, long-buried sensation is burning in your blood.

This shit’s personal.