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"Nah. Books are nice."

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"What kind of books do you like?"

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"All of 'em."

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"Well, that's convenient."

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He grins. "That's me. Convenient as fuck."

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"I love you," he says, snuggling his crappy hospital blanket.

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"You keep saying that. They may be overdosing you."

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"Nah," he says comfortably. "Bet you twenty bucks I'll still love you when I'm off this shit."

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"Is twenty dollars enough to motivate you to lie about that?"

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He laughs. "No way. I can get twenty bucks anywhere."

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"Really, what's your secret?"

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"I suck a lot of dick."

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"Ah. I guess that could do it."

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He grins.

But: "Sorry," he says belatedly, "did you not wanna know that?"
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"Not especially, but I'll survive the experience."

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"Okay."

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"And I'm sure you're already aware of and do not care about relevant laws regarding prostitution and the age of consent and so on."

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Trouble laughs.

It is really not a nice laugh, this time. Most of his laughs are happy, even if they sound a little weird. This one is not.
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"...Are you okay? Apart from the obvious broken bones."

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"There's some less obvious broken bones, too," he says brightly. "I'm pretty fucked up."

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"Are you okay apart from the physical injuries."

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He smiles wryly.

"I'm pretty fucked up," he repeats.
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"Should I ask you about that when you aren't high?" Bella asks wryly.

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"Better than asking me about it when I am."

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