He's going to come back. If he dies-- if he dies again it's going to be just as horrible and just as painful and he's going to come back. There's no way out. It's just going to keep being like this forever.

His stomach twists, he presses a hand against his mouth because he is not going to be sick again, he can't go through that kind of humiliation twice in a day. But it still feels like he can't breathe, like something's clawing at his ribs and freezing him in place. He has to get out of here before he does something worse than what he's already done.

But he has to keep this conversation going. He has to look like there's nothing wrong. He still can't see anything.

"That's good for them."