“Maybe I’ll let you show me how,” he grinned. “Would you only put the hooks where you’re supposed to, or would you turn me into a pincushion because you were bored?” He lifted his brows, channeling young Christian Slater, and then took another bite.
He studied the wounds on her arms with interest, reached out with those chipped black nails to touch the edge of one. And also because he wanted to know if she was warm or not, since she sounded like she was some kind of revenant. “You reanimate the meat?” he asked with morbid fascination. “You bleed and everything even though you’re not alive?”
He looked up, as if he expected her eyes to be milky dead gaze from some Romero movie. “Do you do all of it? Bleed, cry, come? I don’t get the point of numbing yourself. The fuck is the point of even being here if you don’t feel anything, don’t hunger for anything? Just jump in front of a train if that’s the case.”