you got home from work like usual, hanging up your coat,taking off your shoes and putting your keys in the bowl. you walked into the kitchen and stopped when you saw Simon sat worriedly at the table, a metal box in front of him you knew that box, the box you’ve had since you were fifteen, the box that contained your razors, plasters and cleaning wipes “Baby-“ you began, trying to explain. “Tell me it’s not what I think it is.” Simon said.