Maybe he is stalling so he can think of how to handle me, and my arms are already drooping with the effort of holding up this unearthly metal object. It’s like a tonne of weight in my hands, and even my shoulders vibrate with effort. It’s icy cold in my pale hands and crying out at me to drop it. I need to do something, and soon before, he can simply walk over and take it from me. I should give it to him. I can’t, though. It’s all that stands between me and the world of pain he can ...