As Matthew started depressing the plunger, Cassidy remembered to turn on his pulse. The tattoo on the back of his hand fluttered its wings, and his heart started beating at its usual too-steady rhythm. But the pace didn’t matter — the point was, when Matt pulled off the tourniquet, the drug moved through Cassidy’s veins faster than the speed of molasses. His eyelids dropped, his lips pouted softly. He hadn’t had a rush like that in a long while.
“Mate, I haven’t the first clue how any of it really works.” When he’d found focus again, he looked for Matthew’s eyes. “I’ve lost limbs and had me skin burnt off, and the tattoos grow back. So how’s that for healin’?”
He could have said something about how he had noticed himself aging, very gradually. He knew he didn’t have the face of a 19-year old anymore.
He felt like mentioning that would bring the mood down further. He’d sit with it on his own time, maybe. Maybe he wouldn’t.
Cassidy leaned back until he was lying down over his jacket. “D’you think I could do all right, out here?”
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“Mate, I haven’t the first clue how any of it really works.” When he’d found focus again, he looked for Matthew’s eyes. “I’ve lost limbs and had me skin burnt off, and the tattoos grow back. So how’s that for healin’?”
He could have said something about how he had noticed himself aging, very gradually. He knew he didn’t have the face of a 19-year old anymore.
He felt like mentioning that would bring the mood down further. He’d sit with it on his own time, maybe. Maybe he wouldn’t.
Cassidy leaned back until he was lying down over his jacket. “D’you think I could do all right, out here?”