I can’t get Hoyt’s words outta my mind. Calling my blood shit.
When I think about my blood, I think about its healing nature. Its way of connecting me to the man that I love. At least that’s how it used to be. But lately, it’s like the little rope tied to him at one end, and me at the other? It’s fraying or unraveling. All the fibers are coming apart and now we’re just a mess of string that used to be something strong.
When I think about things that are shit, I think of my daddy’s beatings. I think of what I did to Hoyt, with that guy at Fantgasia. I think of whoever or whatever beat Jason near to his death.
But my blood? My blood ain’t shit. Hoyt Fortenberry, you could not have been more wrong. My blood just saved someone’s life. Maybe it’s my fault that the rope is coming apart, but it ain’t my blood’s fault.
There are things that are shit, and then there are things that are not shit.