"If I wasn't totally fucked up, I wouldn't do this." Sam clarified because he felt he had to. He opened the blister pack and took one, tossing it into his mouth and washing it down with some of Barty's drink. "But I am, aren't I? Not just from the drugs, I'm just fucked up." He knew Barty was a gangster, he knew going home with him was bad and he knew that he was beyond fucked if he did this. Yet, the idea of the familiar was comforting.

A bed he knew, a place that was safe, somewhere to just sleep and have Barty near - it screamed out to him. He wanted it in a way he didn't want anything else right now. "I don't know what is wrong with me."