Tears stream from her eyes, coating her cheeks. Wordlessly, I step toward her, ignoring the fact that she flinches when I come close. Sitting beside her on the couch, I pull her into my arms, not loosening my hold when she tries to shove me away. Her quiet tears once more turn to hysterical sobs as I hold her tightly, restraining her.

"Tell me you didn't do it," she cries, fighting me. "Tell me it wasn't you!"

"Shhh," I whisper into her hair. "It's going to be okay."

"No!" she yells, choking on the word. "Tell me! Tell me you didn't do this, that you wouldn't do this! After everything we've been through, everything I've been through, tell me you wouldn't do this!"

She doesn't wait for me to tell her.

She knows, deep down, I can't.

I don't want to lie, and she doesn't want to hear the truth.

The silence is filled by her sobs as her hostility wavers, giving way to the devastation. She cries into my chest, her body violently shaking in my arms. I try to console her, but my words only make it worse.

The guilt nags at me until I can hardly breathe. The pain that coats her seems to seep into me.

I did this.

There's no way around that.

I caused this.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so sorry, Karissa."

Those words bring back her anger, kick-starting her rage. She hits me, shoves against me, slipping out of my arms when I'm momentarily stunted by her aggression. She climbs to her feet, still crying, her eyes wild and face flushed.

"Are you?" Her voice trembles. "Are you sorry?"

"I am," I admit, surprised by how much I mean those words. "I never meant—"

"You never meant to hurt me," she says as she throws her hands up, masking her pain with the fury I can see burning in her eyes. "You're not sorry you hurt her, are you? You're not sorry you killed her, that you took her life, that you took her from me, are you? No, you're not! You're not sorry at all!"

"Your mother wasn't innocent."

"She's not innocent? None of us are innocent! My mother made mistakes, my mother wasn't perfect, but she was my mother! She was my… my mom… she was my mom. You killed her, you took her from me, and all you can say is she wasn't innocent? What's wrong with you?"

Too much, I think.

Way too much for either of us to ever understand.

"Tell me this is a sick joke," she continues, pleading with me, her emotions shifting so quickly I can hardly keep up. "Tell me this isn't real. Tell me she's not dead. You told me if I went with you that day, if I didn't wake her up, you'd let her live. And I did… I went with you. I've stayed with you. I did everything I could to save her. I wanted her to live. I even turned her into the police! Tell me that wasn't for nothing. Please. Tell me she isn't really dead!"

Her words make that guilt consume me, turning my insides to ice, freezing my muscles as I stare at the trembling mess of a woman in front of me. Is that why she stayed with me? Why she opened herself back up to me? Was it just to save her mother?

Was it never about me? About us?

The questions Ping-Pong around in my head, fueling bitter thoughts that nearly fly from my lips. The sense of betrayal is so frigid I'm afraid those answers might make me break, snap right in half like an icicle.

"Please," she whispers, wrapping her arms around her chest like she's trying to hold herself together. "Tell me this isn't real."

Sighing, my gaze drops from hers. "I'm sorry."

Before the last syllable is from my lips, Karissa hits the floor, her legs giving out on her. Her cries shake the room, rattling my fucking brain. Closing my eyes, I run my hands through my hair, gripping handfuls and pulling, trying to distract myself with the pain. Tears sting my eyes, tears I don't want to cry, tears I don't want to feel. I don't want it. I don't want any of this.

I wanted justice.

All I got was more heartbreak.

They say when seeking revenge, dig two graves, one for you and one for them. I've buried them all, disposed of bodies and left a trail of charred remains in my wake, and now all that's left is my own grave. And I dug it, all right… dug it so deep there's no fucking way out of it.

No way out of it, and I'm seconds away from dragging a woman I love into it with me yet again.

"Go." The word is from my lips without a second thought. I can't give it a second thought or the selfish monster inside of me will stop it, with stop this moment of weakness. "Go. Now. Before I can't let you go again."

"What?"

Her voice is tear-filled and full of confusion. I open my eyes, looking at her. The sight of her distress hurts.

I have to look back away.

"Leave, if you want. If you want out, go. I won't come after you."

"You won't?"

I try not to be hurt by the hope I hear in her question.

Try, and fail.

It fucking hurts.

"I won't," I say. "If you want to leave, I'll let you leave."

She stares at me, expression blank, as she tries to come to terms with what I'm saying.

"I don't want you to," I tell her, the words spilling out of me, a hitch in my voice. I've never felt so vulnerable in my life, cracking myself open for her. "Letting go of you will kill me. So I'm asking you to stay… to stay with me. It's my turn to ask you to stay this time. But it's up to you. I can't make this choice. You're going to have to make it. Stay or go."