Final Curtain

Nate's POV

My eyes prowled the streets. I was in Midtown West, a neighborhood in Manhattan—or Hell's Kitchen. I liked that one better because it really felt like I was in hell. I wasn't caged in, but it sure felt like I was in a box. Two days had dragged on since Melissa went MIA. Saying I wasn't taking it well would be a big understatement.

Reed hadn't wasted time sending the blood to a lab he trusted. The results came in by the end of the day—they'd matched a man with a criminal record. The name burned itself on my brain the first time Reed spoke it—Carter Jackson. He'd been in jail for theft. He'd been sentenced for six years, he got out for good behavior after four and a half. His current occupation? Kidnapping people, apparently. My jaw muscles popped. Kidnapping was not in the same league as auto theft. Who cared about a stolen piece of crap? I growled low in my throat. Great, I thought, now I'm dissing cars.

I needed to find the bastard soon. I had a lot of pent up rage to dish out—I was going to make sure he suffered. Especially if he'd hurt her. Either way, the SOB was in for a world of pain, followed by a very slow death. I had no idea what this rat wanted with her—or any of us. I didn’t know him, Reed wasn't included, Anna had drawn a complete blank—same went for Aric. What beef could he have with Melissa? I cocked my eyebrows at the idea, who would have any bone to pick with her? She was as problematic as a ladybug.

I made sure that my whole body pressed into the shadowed wall. Boats weren't coming in at this hour. The Hudson was quiet like the dead. I wasn't here to catch smugglers, no. I was here for bigger fish—for Carter. On top of ripping people from their homes with no fucking reason, he was also a junkie. The joy. Each time I recalled that... my heart bled out. It was a heavy process of imagining the worst scenarios—I couldn't stand to think what could happen. I knew, though and it killed me little by little until I couldn't stand to breathe without knowing if she was alright. I wish I had a connection to her, to know how she was doing.

My hair shot from my eyes as I lifted my head on impulse, my brows creased. Someone was arriving. I heard foot step after foot step, like an alert dog. Eyes drifting over to a metal container, I slit them. A guy who looked in his late twenties walked from behind it looking sideways, being discrete. Afraid of being caught.

A smirk of pure longing etched across my face. When I got my hands on him he'd be begging for the police to show, to arrest him—just so he could be safe from me. My smirk of amusement turned dark, sketchy as I thought about what I was going to do to him. Oh, some serious bodily harm was going to ensue.

Being stealthy—the kind of quiet that would make Mel jump five-feet—I slid across the container's metal wall, keeping myself out of sight in the shadows.

Then, I whistled. Not a second later...

“Who's there?” not your dealer, I thought bleakly.

Carter was meeting with another guy. A drug-dealer. If I didn't want interruptions I'd have to do this fast. My muscles all twitched with anticipation, I wanted to wrap my hands around his neck and slowly squeeze the life out of him—after I got information on Melissa. I knew myself though, I wasn't going to make this fast, not even close. So, if the dealer showed up before we were finished I'd kill him. No qualms about it. I'd throw the body into the Hudson and that would be the end of him.

Just to make him skittish, I whistled again, this time lower.

Carter was already spinning his head into every single direction—I smirked, you had to love echoes. Stupidly he pulled out a knife from his back pocket. It was small, easy to disarm. Did this guy really take Mel? You shouldn't pull out your weapon before you were sure of your enemy's location. Not when the enemy had the element of surprise. Better for me, worse for him.

Carter moved to his left, half-shaking, half-certain of himself and stabbed the shadows—really? This guy was a complete moron. How he managed to steal eluded me, how didn't Melissa take care of this guy's ass? I'd seen her take out some Order dudes. This guy... he shouldn't have been hard.

“Where are you—?” calling out to an unknown enemy. Really dumb.

My conclusion: he used something to knock her out. That... that just made me want to rip his lungs out.

With a graceful silence that would put monks to shame, I walked to him. His back was to me and I was going to take the advantage. I took him down so fast he only started struggling a minute after being pressed to the cold ground. His reflexes were shabby, turning his head to the light I saw transpiration—the jackass had consumed. Either that, or he was going through an withdrawal of whatever drug he used.

“Who—Jack? Jack, man, I... I have your money—I swear it's back—” Jack? Great, a withdrawal hallucination.

“I'm not crackerjack, you filthy bastard.” My gloved hand grew much tighter around the back of his neck, my fingers digging into the flesh like I was out for blood—and I was. “I'm the guy you have to be very afraid of. The guy whose girlfriend you kidnapped two days ago!” I hissed down at him. His eyes were bleary, red where they should be white—then I saw his ear. It was patched up. Back home Reed found a piercing along with the little amount of blood. My heart swelled with pride for a sec. That was my girl.

“I have your money, I do. I do!”

There it went the pride replaced by anger.

“I told you,” I whispered in a deadly fashion that had him squirming. “I. Am. Not. Jack.” A crunch resounded off the walls. My knuckles didn't even buzz, but his nose did. Blood poured down his face, covering his lips—he lapped at it before realizing it was blood—his blood. “So,” I flung to the side, turning over. “Let's try this again. You kidnapped my girlfriend. Where is she?” the last thing I cared about now was the reason. I only cared if she alive and breathing. I could deal with the reasons later, when I could actually think rationally.

Carter was in a horrified haze. He took his shaking hand to his face and glared back at the red liquid coating his fingers. He was trembling so bad the small knife fell from the other hand. This was one pathetic piece of shit.

“I'm talking to you, Carter.” I ground his name with animosity hoping he'd understand his life was a very unstable thing right now. That didn't help. My lip curled in a very, very ugly way—like I was building up for a snarl. Maybe a few cracked ribs would help.

He looked up at me when I towered over him, covering the little light we had at the docks. When he stayed quiet, simply glaring with wide unfocused eyes—my foot was precise on its target. Along with the dull crack came a wail of pain—music in my ears. I wasn't done. I kept my foot on his chest—my head thrown back, my legs slightly apart—I looked like a conqueror stomping my foot on the conquered. I felt my eyes burn with hatred, with revenge.

“Focus, Carter,” I dug my heel in, jabbing the fractured ribs. Intensifying the pain, creating a larger gap between his bones. He pounded a fist to my leg—I growled. “You're only making it worse.” I whispered with glee. My heart was beating fast, everything told me to rip him apart—everything to find out where she was. Even rip this junkie's neck with my bare teeth. “Where is she?” my voice flared with rage, and below it, a layer of despair.

“I-I...” he coughed endlessly, I took some pressure away—only enough so he could talk.

“Tell me.” The man spat blood that had gotten into his mouth to the side. “This, what you're feeling? This isn't pain. I can make it worse, bob. I can make it much worse.”

Carter didn't have a warning. I grabbed his own knife off the floor, I didn't gave it a second thought. I stabbed the middle of his right palm. He cried more when I pulled it out.

I tossed the knife far from us.

“I'm not going to stop until you tell me where Melissa is. If you value your insignificant little life you'll tell me where the hell you took her.” I knew I couldn't kill him, not until I knew where she was. Even then, I wouldn't kill Carter right off. I'd find her first, make sure he wasn't lying. Then, when she was curled into the covers back home—snatch.

“I kn-know that... that name...” now we were getting somewhere. Pain always sobered up people, and it helped that I was threatening is life.

“No shit? You went to her apartment and took her.” The pressure on his chest was diminished again, I wanted to let him think he was safe now—safeish. That I wasn't going to hurt or kill him after he told me her whereabouts. “You're listening now, aren't you?”

The nod was brusque but slow. His eyes had stopped darting everywhere like when he'd been calling me 'Jack'.

“Where did you take—”

“I just... I needed—I needed t-the money...” a frown wanted to snake across my face. I let him go on. “I-I didn't know, 'kay...? I didn't know...” he wheezed. “...who she was.” what?

“Do you randomly kidnap girls?”

“N-no—it was the money... I owe, I owe Jack—so...” for money? My eyes grew sharper, like I could pierce his flesh with it. “He hi-hired me... paid...” I growled when he cut himself off with another cough fit—I hoisted Carter from the floor. “Please—” I slammed him into a container.

“Who?” I hissed, mouth close to his ear. I practically smelled his fear as I held him by the collars of his shirt. “Who paid you?” Carter's head seemed to flop back when I shook him again. “Focus, Carter. Who told you to kidnap her?”

“I...” he whispered closer and closer to passing out. From pain or blood loss, I didn't know. “...money... I needed—money...”

My face hardened, “Not money—Melissa. Who hired you? Give me a name.” My hand was itching to curl up and smash in his face until every bone gave out—I needed him, though. I needed him alive.

Carter's face was marred by sweat, blood and fear—his eyes looked everywhere except at me. Swallowing hurt him, too bad. The bastard could swallow a saw I would still think it wasn't enough punishment for taking Mel.

“G-Gil...” Gil? My confusion was buried under stress and folds of anger.

“A last name?” I asked.

No response. I shook him, there was a clack when his head beat on the metal. His eyes fluttered open briefly.

“Larson...” the name was let out as a cough. His eyes were dropping more and more as I processed the information. “Do-don't kill m-me...”

I smirked in a devilish manner. My hand grew stronger around the shirt propelling him closer. His messed up face inches from mine.

I licked my lips, “I'm not going to kill you.” A breath of relieve left the junkie's chest—I pressed him into the wall like I was planning on nailing him to it, twisting the smirk on my face slowly, looking gleeful. “You,” I said, eyes trained on his causing as much fear as humanly possible. “You're coming with me. In case you're lying.”

His chest filled up with air preparing for a bloody scream—before he could let out even a whisper I made sure to press my fingers on a pressure point on his neck, below the ear.

Until I got what I wanted he wasn't going to see the light of day. Oh, who was I kidding? I was going to eradicate him anyway.

I dropped Carter's body, taking in the scene. I would have to clean up. I didn't need the police being called in because they'd found blood or...

I grabbed the knife tossing it into the river. That was easy to solve.

I checked my boots to see if I'd stepped on any blood—nothing. Good. All I had to do was clean the ground. That, and I had to wrap Carter's body into a plastic bag so I could put him in the trunk. Now that I thought about it... where was I going to keep him?

I cursed myself for not thinking that far ahead. But it couldn't be helped. No matter how much I tried to keep my mind off her... it kept whirling right back to the same thing—the same person. Melissa. I grabbed bleach from the Ford, as well as a towel and two industrial bags. One for Carter and another for the towel.

“Quite the rampage, little brother.” My head twisted all the way to the left—Aric stood half covered in shadows, half covered in light. His gem eyes glinted as he came forward to where I was kneeling, by the blood I had to wipe. “Is he still alive?”

“What are you doing here?” I rubbed with vigor, dying to throw away the cloth and dark gloves—I hated wearing gloves.

“I followed you, of course.”

“I'm not that dumb—why did you follow me?” I still had energy to dish out. If Aric ticked me off too much—

“Someone had to make sure you weren't getting yourself killed. You all but ran out on us when we managed to track this bloke down.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pointing at Carter's passed out form. “Anna was a little afraid you'd get yourself arrested. Something about you not being able to think straight when it comes to Melissa.” It was true. If Melissa was involved I only saw red. Anna knew it because both times Mel went missing I tore two guys apart and asked questions later. Not a good idea. “I don't think Melissa would like you to be behind bars, either.”

I snorted, “What I do is none of your business.” I said ignoring his worries, and retells of Mel's wishes. I knew she wanted me to be safe. But if being arrested would get her home—I'd do it. “Or Anna's,”

Aric was beside me in a crouch.

“Now,” he started. “That's not a fair thing to say, is it?” was he pushing my buttons on purpose? Because I would explode. He wouldn't like it. “We're family you and me.” My teeth clenched harder—like two rocks grinding into one another. Why was he saying things like this—why now?

“What are you doing here?”

“Looking out for you,” he seemed to want to add something more, but didn't.

My laugh wasn't forced, it was sarcastic. Heavy with amusement, dark amusement.

My head turned to his.

“Are you serious?” I shook my head in utter disbelieve. “You never cared about me.” That reality stung—hurt—on new levels. I'd never said it out loud, I'd thought it, but never said it. Not even my brother—the last relative I had—gave a damn about me. He'd known about me through mom, he knew I'd been adopted, he talked to Drew and... and he left me there—in the Hive. “So do me a favor and don't pretend you've had a change of heart after all this time.”

Aric sighed when I went back to scrubbing. He was walking around, aimlessly. I could here him humming something. It... it sounded familiar. I knew that tune—that... that lullaby.

Before throwing the bloodied towel into a black plastic, I met his eyes. Aric was standing in front of me, looking down.

“Sound familiar?” I did my best to keep the blank face. “I know it does.” His eyes shone like two green lanterns, breaking through the darkness—like cat's eyes. “If I didn't care about you,” he turned, walking to where Carter was laying, grabbing the last bag as he went. “You would've been thrown into that glass coffin.” My lungs stopped working when he brought it up—it was something I didn't like remembering. Looking down the hole, seeing the coffin inside... big enough for me to—I clenched my hands hearing the sound of leather being squeezed—I was still wearing the damn gloves. “If I'd kept quiet you would've been buried six-feet under. I can't imagine that's nice for people who aren't bothered by tight places—I can't phantom what it would've been like for you.”

He was right. I would've been shoved into that thing... No, my mind countered, if he hadn’t said anything...

“Mel would have told them.” But she hadn't. Not right away. I understood why, though. She'd been thinking about what would happen to Anna, what would happen to her mother's life's work. She'd worked so hard to bring The Order down... to see it all go to waste because of one person—because of me...

“Probably,” I heard him mutter.

I wanted to say 'definitely' but a weight on my throat didn't let me. The reason I knew what she'd been thinking was because we'd talked about out after everything calmed down. In the end, she would have told them. Mel would have sacrificed both Anna and the evidence. But would it have been fast enough?

I let out a frustrated sigh; whether I liked it or not... Aric had been the one to save me that day. It didn't change the coldness and indifference he'd showed me when I found out we were half-brothers. Or the fact that he knew for years, and never tried to at least contact me.

“I hope you're wearing gloves.” I walked to where he was, trying to get Carter into the sack.

“I'm not a bloody moron.”

I took Carter's arms placing them at his side so he'd fit inside as Aric slid up the bag. I tied it up nicely. Inside, Carter's body was all crumpled—we had to make him fit all the way. There weren't words between us as we carried the bags. I found Aric's not at all flashy Viper parked by Mel's Ford.

“Where are you planning on taking him?” did he guess things by luck or... could he read thoughts? Now I understood Melissa when she kept saying it was scary how I knew what she was thinking. “You don't have a place, do you?”

Throwing the body into the trunk along with the towel's bag, I cursed under my breath. I hated having to ask for help. I hated it.

“No,” I said in a monotone. “I'm guessing you do?” my tone turned cheery.

Aric smirk vividly, “Yes, I do.”

“Lead the way.” I said tossing my gloves into the trunk before closing the thing.

***

Aric's house in New York was in Queens. It was one of those small houses that all looked alike. I pulled into the small garage, it looked bigger because it was completely empty. His Viper stayed on the little garden outside the garage. The whole house was surrounded by a metal fence. The garden was small but bushes grew roundly, and trees reached their peak, growing bushy. I loathed admitting it... but Aric was smart. He let the vegetation grew to cover the house—nature was like a natural blind fold. The people who passed on the street had no idea what went on in here.

From Aric's garage we had access to the inside. The minute I set foot on the kitchen I could describe my brother's house in one word: neat. I didn't need to see the other divisions to know Aric liked to keep everything in order.

Aric curled two fingers at me, “Follow me,” I went along. “There's an underground basement. It used to be a bomb shelter.” We walked out into the backyard. Next to the garage were double doors making an awkward angle with the ground. Aric crouched, removing the wooden plank keeping them locked from the outside.

“We can keep him in here since the sound quality down there isn't what I'd call favorable.” Translation: no one would hear Carter scream.

Underground—why did everything have to be underground? My body kept jerking as Aric pulled the twin doors open. All I had to do was take a step forward, and, after closing my eyes I did. There were stairs leading all the way down, though I couldn't see the bottom because it was too freaking dark.

“There's a light down there... somewhere.” Aric mumbled and I think it was the first time he sounded unsure. “I haven't been down there in a while.” He shrugged not hesitating putting a foot on the first stair, then on the other—he kept going until he was at the bottom. I could see a little light—probably from his phone—as he tried to find the switch.

His mop hair popped from below.

“You can bring your hostage.” My brother said from the fourth stair.

I didn't waste time frowning, I just did what he said. I opened the garage from the outside, carrying Carter's wrapped up body over my shoulder. The dude was still out like a light, either that, or he'd died from asphyxiation.

Handing him over to Aric, I stilled. I would have to go inside the basement eventually. I wanted to make the guy talk if the name wasn't enough. I wanted to be the one to deal with him, not anyone else. This was my problem. For now, though, I let Aric carry him down alone. I heard plastic unwrapping, a dry thud. Then there was a metal sound, clinking. I bowed my head spying on what was going on inside. I didn't see much, Aric must've taken the guy to a far end wall.

A few minutes later, I kicked a piece of gravel hearing him come back. He bent down closing the pair doors, placing the plank. My jaw ground tight when he stood at my height. If Melissa was here she'd elbow me into saying 'thank you'. She wasn't here, though. I felt my spirit dull for a minute.

Aric was on the move before I knew it, he was walking through the back door. Sighing restlessly, I followed him in.

“So,” I began uncertain. “This is where you've been staying for over a month.” It was a statement, he nodded anyway. “Has Anna been here?”

“Why would you ask?” he opened the fridge taking out a beer, resting his arm on its door, head turning my way. “Want one?”

Yes. Any kind of alcohol would do for me right now. Alcohol numbed, I needed numbing. I also needed to keep my head in the game, so, not a good time to have hangovers.

“No,” drinking would make my senses and reflexes flatter, smoking wouldn't. I pulled the Marlboro pack along with the Zippo lighter.

“Those things will kill ya'.” I held up the box so he could read what was written across. SMOKING KILLS.

“Even they say it, doesn't stop people from buying them.” People were stupid like that. I didn't smoke often. I could go weeks without a cigarette—alright, not weeks, maybe one week. It was still good. I wasn't dependent. “Drinking can damage the liver and cause kidney failure, so there.” I placed a smoke in my mouth and lit it in one smooth motion.

I wasn't surprised Aric didn't need an opener to pop the cap off. Instead, he expertly used the edge of the counter. He tossed the metal lid in the trash.

“Anna's been here a few times. Why?” he repeated.

Pulling out of my world, I exhaled a smoke of breath.

“I don't want to sit anywhere you've done it.” There was a chuckle from across the room.

“Then don't sit on the table.” Argh, nasty pornographic image. No one wanted to imagine their brother doing it—despite liking him or not. “Did he tell you anything or did you just beat him to a pulp?”

I kept my eyes on the cigarette I was burning out of existence. I wanted to do that to whoever wanted Melissa.

“Gil Larson,” my eyes jumped for my older brother's face. No change—fuck. “You don't know the name?” I already knew he didn't. I just needed... needed to cling to a little hope.

His face flattered from the normal, calm front. It was minimal but it happened.

“I don't. But we can search for information on the guy tomorrow. I can talk to my contacts, and I'm sure your mate Reed has some friends as well. Something will come up.”

Tomorrow. One more day without seeing her face. One more night without sleeping beside her. If there was a God, he must really hate me—us. After all the shit we went through, what she had to go through to being down a crime organization... this was what she got? I mean, okay, I might deserve to be miserable for the rest of my years for all the hurt and pain I inflicted—but Mel? No. She deserved everything. My princess, was worthy of so much more than me. Maybe this was punishment, maybe... maybe this was divine intervention or whatever to show her we shouldn't be together—that as long as she was with me, her life would be hell.

“Do you have an ashtray?” it was a stupid question. Aric didn't smoke. Why would there be something without use around the house?

He shook his head.

“Use the sink.” He nodded to the side where a pristine sink was.

I watched as ash fell inside. I took another drag.

I loved her. I would do anything for her. I quit the Hive, I... I was trying to be a better man, the man she saw in me. The person she believed me to be. And still... our last conversation had been a big lie. I wasn't going to be a bouncer. I was going to be partaking in an underground fighting club. Guilt tiptoed my insides, I lied to her. But... it was only temporary; I was only going to be fighting there for a limited time, just until I got a normal job. It didn't make it right, I knew that. That fact made it much more painful—then, the thought I'd been keeping at bay hit me like a freight train.

What if I didn't see Mel again?

I didn't want to think about that. It was too much for me, too much to bare. It was a possible scenario, though. I really didn't want my last conversation with her to be based in a lie. I couldn't handle—

“Fuck.” I cursed letting the cigarette fall from between my fingers. It burned me. I hadn’t noticed it was ending, I just kept taking absent drags, filling up my lungs.

I put my index finger under running water for a minute. Then I washed away the ash and the dead cigarette.

Aric was leaning on the counter sipping his beer, eyes on me.

“You need to hit the sack.” He said trivially.

Finishing rubbing a hand down my face, I muttered, “I'm not tired.”

I hadn't been prepared to hear the silence being disrupted, not by Aric's laugh, anyway.

“I guess the circles under your eyes are healthy?” my forehead winkled. “This is like her two-week coma all over.” He absently commented.

I drew a shaky sigh, gathering all my wits not to do something I'd regret later.

“Why do you have to bring those things up...?” I grumbled into my palms, massaging my very exhausted face—Aric was utterly right. I'd slept four hours since Mel was taken. That was nothing, not when my head reeled.

“What things?”

“Things I don't want to remember—” I pinched my eyes shut. “The coffin, the coma... the lullaby—those are all things I wanna forget. You keep bringing them up—why?”

Aric was quiet, blank. A statue, an unreadable book. And like it wasn't enough, he had our mom's eyes. That alone was a massive torture for me. His stare broke free from mine.

“Do you think I do that to hurt you?” hell, yeah— “I don't.” He looked down at the near empty beer, placing it on the counter. “When people go through traumatic experiences they want to forget. They don't want to deal with them, so they tuck those memories in a far corner of their minds. They choose not to deal with them. But here's the tricky part, you don't forget a trauma. And every time someone brings it up they'll flinch, start to sweat—people react in all sorts of bad ways. And why? Because they never dealt with their past.” I stared at Aric. “That's what was happening with Melissa.” I frowned suddenly. “After she killed Drew, she wanted to forget it, she didn't want to talk about it—” I felt a sharp jab in my heart. I hadn't been able to help... “I talked to her about it. She overcame it, she didn't run away.” Where was he getting with this? “The thing is,” his arms crossed over his rising chest. “People can try to forget the past all they want, but it will always catch up. No matter what you do or... where you go.” It sounded like he was speaking from experience. It wasn't just his tone when he spoke; it was the far off gaze. It was clouded, less bright than usual.

The next minute, I pulled a Melissa on him. I blurted a question just like she would do.

“Was that what happened to you?”

A short intake of breath later, my brother stared into my eyes.

“What I'm saying is that you have to accept what happened—or almost happened.” I'm guessing he was referring to the coffin. “I dealt with my past in many, many ways.” And that was probably the answer to my Melissa-question.

I moved my neck side-to-side—it cracked. A chuckle came from my side.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head. Growing a little softer—the kind of soft I'd seen directed at Mel—he held my eyes. “I'm trying to help you, Nate.”

I tried to discard how those words wormed their way into my heart and... made a strange throb ease. I rolled it off as a chill, coming up with an easy smirk.

“Is all this, an elaborated way to make me admit I need sleep?” because it was working.

A little grin showed up but vanished as quickly.

“Melissa won't magically appear just because you're not sleeping. The only things that will appear are wrinkles.” I almost tipped my lips at that. Melissa had told something to me about wrinkles—like I was viewing all our moments together, I remembered.

She'd asked if I was worried smiling would give me wrinkles. In my head, I was smiling—I did whenever her face popped up or I heard her words.

My eyes looked at the red spot on my finger. I did need to sleep—or I needed to close my eyes. There was no way I could guarantee I'd be able to doze off. The more I thought about sleeping though... the more I thought about going back to Mel's apartment—our apartment—where it was empty. Empty of her but filled with her essence, her smell, her clothes, her drawings—the drawing she'd hung on the fridge... the one of me. It was a perfect match. A mirror couldn't have made out my face in a more detailed manner, she was talented. I never told her that, I should—and I should tell her I loved her. I didn't do it often, it was still hard to get the words out, but I should.

“I think there's a spare bedroom upstairs me and Anna haven't used.” Mild amusement coated his words. The 'you can sleep here' was implied.

I didn't want to. There was resistance inside of me, the want to say 'no'. Deny that I needed charity or that I didn't want to face that faded apartment. I almost gave the excuse that Melissa could show up—a lie without limits, that one...

There was a pause between us. My eyes tried to lift to Aric's—they dropped, lifted, dropped—until I felt a pinch in my thigh—a phantom of a pinch, the one Mel would've given me so the words would tore from my mouth.

“Thank you.”