James hated crying. It was probably one of the worst feelings in the world, second only to crying in front of a girl who you had spent years building up street cred with (and had sex with on a fairly regular basis).
At least the God-awful heaving seemed to be coming to a close, but James' eyes were still red and puffy and leaking. "What if she's not, Bobby?" Wide brown eyes looked down at her. "What if she's not okay? People they..." He couldn't get the word 'die' out. "Things go wrong with this stuff all the time."