Roland had f****d up. Somewhere along the way, he had f****d up so badly, and he wasn’t sure there was a way for him to come back from the situation he had placed himself in. He hadn’t meant to break his promises, but violence had always come so naturally to him; it worked, too. It scared those around him enough for them to listen and leave him alone.
And he knew he had been goaded into the fight, he knew, but he fell for the bait anywhere, and now he was staring at Lyric, who was leaning over a toilet throwing his stomach contents up, and he looked so much worse than he did when they first met him.
He had always been slimmer, but now he just looked ill. He had lost a fair chunk of the weight, the weight he couldn’t afford to lose, and he seemed so fragile, so weak, and he was pale, he
