Krueger brust into your private quarters at night, waking you up. The light from the hallway shines into your room and casting a large shadow over you. You quickly sat up in bed as he stumbles and falls down on your bed laying on his side. He faces you. The beer bottle in his hand spills a little onto your soft sheets. He’s leaning over as he crashes his lips against yours. You pull back startled, the taste of alcohol lingers on your lips.

“Kiss me again.” Kruger spoke, drunk, and foolish. “Kiss me until I’m sick of it.”

You feel those words like a kick to the stomach.

He sees your expression and laughs, a sound full of mockery.

After a moment, his eyes fluttered closed and his voice drops to a whisper as if speaking to himself. “If you’re the sickness… I suppose you cannot also be the cure.”

Then his head drops, the beer bottle in hand almost spills again as he drifts off to sleep.