I baked and cooked the entire rest of the day, trying to work off all my frustrations about Mase, both sexual and not, and every other fucked up thing that powered my life. He had no right to suggest I give up iron just to help the ghosts. Maybe I should've kept all my scars like he had so I could wave them under his nose. He didn't get it, and I could sit and describe it to him all day, but he still wouldn't. No one could unless they'd seen what the ghosts used to do to me ...