I'm tired of these mind games, my senses played against me until I'm so disoriented I'll accept any reality as truth. Swallowing back a mouthful of bile, I'm not even sure if I'm grateful or disappointed that Bullseye is still out there, knowing how close I came to killing him -- or thinking I could kill him. I try to steady myself, dragging my good hand across my face to clear some of the tears that've slipped through.

It takes me a few minutes, but once I think I can speak properly, I ask, "Are you okay?"