Alone. He was alone tonight.

It was the first night he had been alone in months--had it been years? He paused to push a trembling hand over his forehead, over the sweat hidden by a brush of brown hair. Then he recoiled instinctively at the touch--it reminded him too much of her. But he was alone now...alone...

Still, he wasn't free. It seemed like he was trapped even more, now that she was gone. She was the one who had gotten him into this trap, and now--now that she was gone, what would he do? Gone, his mind repeated, as if it could stop the fear, gone, she got tired of me, thank God, she got tired of me.

His eyes snapped open and he couldn't close them again. She was there, there right behind his eyelids, waiting to consume him in every blink and wince and attempt at much-needed sleep that he made. Her eyes were burning into him, seeing too far, looking too long. His chest hurt, his heart was pounding violently. He pressed his back harder against the wall, wishing there was some way of hiding. He reached for something, anything sharp...

He had tried to hide all this time, but he had never succeeded in hiding from her. Never.

The pain was heavier. His breath jerked at his body, closed his throat. This is your fault, his thoughts screamed. You got into this and you can't get out, and you're going to let her go and do it to someone else. Stupid. Weak. Pathetic. Not even strong enough to stop her from doing it to you. I hate you...

He crumpled his fist, pushing the blade into his arm. He thought desperately of another voice, one that whispered after earthquakes and fire, one that never spoke insincerely. I love you, said the voice.

A tear broke free from one black-brown eye, already glassy as he tried to hold them inside. He reached up and scraped the tear away. Blood from his fingers smeared on his cheek.

It's too late, because I don't love myself. And I can't love anyone who does. She said that, and it wasn't love. She said that, and it hurt. Where was your love when she was here?

Nothing but silent air. The blood slid down his wrist.

You came too late, he thought. Take me or leave me here, I don't really care now, because I can't imagine suffering that's any worse than this. You don't know what this is. You don't know what happened to me.

He shut his eyes for a moment, quieting his breathing. The sharp, metallic clang of a spike driving into a surface rang in his ears, and he flinched. No, it wasn't like that. No, you don't know.

He could feel the pulse of his raging heartbeat in his bleeding wrist. More images passed before his eyes; he could see them now, hands stretched out and nailed onto splintering, stained wood.

You don't know...you don't know...

'My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?'

Thunder gently rattled the windowpane as rain began to fall outside. The noise on the roof was hardly enough to muffle his choking cries as he hid there in the darkness, in his blood and tears with his face hidden by shaking arms, and his voice too broken to understand.