I was walking the halls of a hospital, and I spoke to this doctor, but I was more like yelling at him. And then, he took my wrists in the way that PJ used to when he loved me - it was often with that harsh severity, but it lacked the pain that would later give me bruises. And he said, "I'm not doing this because I hate you, I'm doing this because I goddamn love you." And then I thought how stupid that was, because I read that in a book somewhere, and I told him that and that he wasn't supposed to be a doctor if that was the case. He just looked at me as if I hadn't spoken, and tore my sleeves up and lifted the bandages underneath. They were gone, except for these faint scars. And I said to him, my voice like acid, "Put. Them. Back." Except he wouldn't.