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Summary
Ash stood up before he even registered the thought, changing elevation so quickly his vision went black. He stomped across the room, made childish by his anger, and ripped the book out of Blanca’s hands. He didn’t know what had overtaken him, but then he was holding the book and it didn’t matter anymore. In one swift tear, he split the book in half and hurled the torn sections at Blanca’s head. “I am not your fucking redemption arc,” he fought to keep his voice level. Yelling would not make his point. But he was so angry he could barely see straight. He was milk on the fire, fine a moment ago but now boiling out of control. “Fixing me will not fix you. You cannot make me get better, I do not want to get better. I like being sick. I deserve to be sick.”
Blanca, impassive as ever, looked solemnly at him, “These ideas are not serving you. It is in your best interest to let go of them.”
how sick do you have to be to deserve help?
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