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He never called the helplines. The one time he did, it was to say goodbye ... to anybody, before leaving the world. Rosie … that was her name. She’d given it when she wasn’t supposed to. She said things that made him burn to live. And he would. He’d find a way to hide his darkness so that he could dance with her, just a single dance, in the liquid sunshine of her laugh. And maybe … maybe he’d taste her. But only once.