"Yes, George, I want to go out there!" Mitchell snapped back. He didn't like George's tone. It wasn't like George had any idea what it was like to be him. The only one who really knew was Cutler and Jesus, he hated that man. He looked back at the blood. "A part of me doesn't." Mitchell's own tone was far less accusive now. "But there's always a part of me that wants to drink. I just want to feel alive again, George." He pressed his forehead against the window again, watching the glass turn into a red screen.