Wylie dragged the towel off his shoulders. He wanted to feel cold. Something in the misery was what he needed to keep him alert. If he felt comfortable then he'd lose his edge. Holding the towel in his hand, arms at his sides he stared at the man in the room who looked very little like the man he left behind.

"I was leaving you," he admitted. It poured out of him before he could stop it. He waited, almost hoping that Johnny would finally hit him.