"You don't get anything."

That's how the hardest talks start. Most end the same way.

You sat at the end of Nicos bed, the boy pacing around the room, screaming, shouting, venting, crying. His friend, Jason, had just died. His rock. The only one after Bianca who understood him. And now he was dead.

You didn't know why he wanted you there with him. But he did. Maybe you help him not go crazy. Maybe you keep him from slicing his throat open.

"I fucking swear, everybody I love or just trust ends up dead! I'm scared to even talk to someone new, cause they might just die, because of me."

He screamed, tears rolling down his cheek. You didn't do anything. You didn't know what to do. But it looked like that was enough for him.