Sly looked at the wound once more. Even though I covered the wound with my hands, he made it seem as if he was seeing it.
"Does it still hurt?" He asked in a lighter voice, his eyes looked a bit dull. It was as if he were feeling sorry for me.
"Yeah, it still does. It hurts so damn bad, I want to long myself into the pool, and —"
"Don't think of committing suicide!" The way he said it, made me wish to laugh.
"Can't you take a joke, Sly?" I poured more wine into the cup and drank to my fill.
"Don't joke with something, I don't take life, lightly." He frowned at me, "are you sure it doesn't hurt?"
"This happened years ago, I don't see the reason it should hurt now." Without the scar, I might have forgotten about it.
"But the scar is much," he removed the wine and glasses from between us, placed it on the back, and shuffled in, close to me.
