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"I...what?" Micky sounded confused. Then, in a rush of horror, he suddenly remembered his arms. He looked down in a panic and tried to hide his arms behind his back.

"Hey." Michael gently grabbed him again. "Don't do that."

He wanted so badly to heal Micky, but he couldn't do that without the boy asking all sorts of questions. He sighed.

"C'mon, let's get you bandaged up."

"But—"

"Please," Michael said softly, "don't argue with me."

Micky looked down. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Hey." Michael placed his hand under Micky's chin and lifted his face up. "It's okay. Can you do me a favor?"

Micky's eyes widened and his heart raced. His body was screaming at him to run, why the hell was he allowing a stranger to boss him around in his own home, but something compelled him to stay calm.

"Okay. What is it?"

"Please...tear up that suicide note."

my editor finally emailed me back her notes, which I'm gonna look at tomorrow

please for the love of god pray for me cause I'm gonna die

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