[He glances again toward Abbacchio's Stand, at the face of the man looking back at him. It makes him glad that Star isn't like his. He'd feel the same way that Abbacchio looks, probably, if every time he looked over his shoulder, he saw the worst night of his life.

He already sees it every time he closes his eyes. Seeing it while they're open would be even worse.]

I don't get to give up. I don't get to be...too slow. Too weak. Not enough. I don't get to not be there when I need to be. I don't get to fail.

[He thinks idly about rubbing his mouth again. Even raises a hand to do it — but stops halfway there, and puts his hand down again.]

Do you still want to make a difference?