-James-
I stared at the sandwich in front of me. I had made it myself, but now, as I looked at it, I wasn’t sure what to do with it. Did I really want to die? Evan had pointed out more than once that I didn’t, or at least not all of me did.
I was still convinced I did, but the more I thought about it, the more doubt crept in. Maybe that was why I had come to the kitchen and made this poorly assembled sandwich—basically just buttered toast. It didn’t matter how simple it was. I had made it, and now I needed to decide whether or not to eat it.
Sitting there, having a staring contest with two pieces of bread, felt oddly absurd. Male versus toast—who would win? I groaned and rubbed my eyes wearily. Was I going insane? Who has a staring contest with bread?
It was pathetic, but I needed t
