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Blood of Gato - Chapter 33: XXXIII
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... the answers gnawing at him. He didn’t move, didn’t bother reaching for the distractions of habit. Only his fingers twitched against the hem of the sheet, gripping it as if letting go would send him spiraling entirely out of reality. Inside, he felt hollow—thick, black emptiness, tar-like and suffocating. His spirit had sunk to the darkest depths.
Others might find comfort in shallow remedies: a string of meaningless TV shows, a bowl of ice cream, that sugary anesthesia for the soul. Wil ...
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