"I'm painting using my own blood," he snapped, because high or not, he could still argue with fucking Peter, who had left him. "What the fuck do you think I was doing? You left. You left me. Packed up and left with your dick between your legs, like we shouldn't have done this together, and then Mom-"
He stopped, because he wasn't ready to share what he had learned, not when Peter hadn't cared enough to stick around. Or had he? He was here after all. "When did you get back? I didn't think you were coming back. I went to the trailer and everything was gone. You, Linda, everything. I didn't think you were coming back."
Except that didn't make sense. "Am I dying? Is this a dream? Is this hell? Are you in hell too? Did you kill yourself too? Shit, Linda is going to be pissed. So pissed."