Nicolas just read over the message again and again, until he did hurt all over. He didn't care that he was curled up on the floor with scratch marks on his body from all the things inside him than needed somewhere to go, that he was crying without shame. Maybe Lestat had a point about there being no hope in him, what did he know. But at least someone could appreciate him anyway.

He's leaving me. I know he is. But he buys all these things. He doesn't just go. He buys things and he takes me and he just doesn't let me have him any more. He won't let go of me.