"No," He's adamant, "I'm dying." Not that he'd know about shit like withdrawal--he's a suburban kid, used to playing football and kissing girls under the bleachers. A year grifting isn't enough to fix that.

"Screw you, by the way." Because he has nothing to lose and honestly, some company while he withers is a pretty nice idea. Someone to get mad at, though he doesn't think he has the ability to get mad at anyone or anything right now. He's tired.

"You here to shove it in my face? That it didn't work? Already aware of my plan crashing and burning, thanks."