The weight of Anne's previous words hadn't quite sunk in yet. They will, but at the moment all Murphy can do is barely lift his head to look at her. His eyes can only blink slowly.

Against everything he wants, the words leave me don't come out. Not because he's afraid, because Murphy is beyond fear. Whether it's from the drugs or the fact that maybe, deep down, some part of him still wants to die, is anyone's guess.

"Don't know..." Murphy answers in a slurred voice, and that's all that can really come out. Will the drugs wear off anytime soon? Will they ever? He hates the thought that he'll be stuck like this, a near-dead cadaver that's just wishing for it to stop. "Please, don't..." die, but the sentence never finishes before Murphy droops his head.

He's not unconscious. He can still hear the world around him, though it's more like a dream than anything else. If something happens, at least he'll be practically catatonic when it happens. No pain, no suffering.

That almost sounds nice...