I honestly can’t say why I did it. I can’t answer his questions, just as much as I can’t look into his sorrowful eyes and beg to be forgiven. Something’s broken, I can feel it, something which can’t be fixed, no matter how much I try. Something I should have treasured but which I treated with contempt, hell, as a game.

He partly blames himself, I can see as much in that beautifully sculptured face, but he shouldn’t. After all, nothing he could have done to me would have justified my actions.

I wish I could say I was sorry. But I can’t. Not because I don’t want to, God knows this is killing me, but because I’m not sure they would believe me. Any of them. I’ve hurt everyone who was close to me. What the hell was I thinking? But I can’t even answer that.

Perhaps everyone’s right, the things they say about me might be true. I’ve actually become that character, the one I created to protect myself, to shield me from their comments, their judgements. Now I don’t even know if there’s any of the real me left. 

Perhaps I don’t deserve their sympathy. A part of me says ‘Fuck ‘em, I don’t need any of ‘em.’ But out of all those I’ve lied to, the one I can’t convince is myself. I know that just catching a glimpse of their sombre gazes is enough to tear me up inside and makes me want to plead on my knees for forgiveness.

They think I’m heartless, they must do, but they’re wrong, I hope. Now I have to hide behind that mask of indifference ... even if it kills me, as this charade is now the only thing I truly know ...

~The End.