He scoffs lightly and shakes his head. "I'd be fine, I was... on my own, and suicidal, for yeaaaars before out Dad died. Nobody gave a fuck." He snorts, all full of haughty self-derision.

Maybe that's the worst part– how easily he could feel himself slipping back into all those old habits. It makes Malcolm right, of course. That he shouldn't be alone right now. But it's almost more comfortable that way. Because if he's already alone, and isolated, maybe it won't hurt as much when they all leave, and disappear, and end up dead for real.