"What the hell? What the hell...? What did you do?" All we seem to be able to do is stare, eyes unchanging. Your hand grips my wrist so hard I can feel bruises forming. Your fingers skim the cuts on my forearm, the product of hours of work with a razorblade behind a locked door. You never noticed these things before. Did you, darling?

I don't say anything. Just stare at you. Your eyes.

"I... I'm s-sorry." That's all I can manage.

"Why the fuck did you do this? Why?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry." That's still all I can manage as you stare at me, incredulous.

"Don't fucking apologize. Tell me why you did this."

"I'm sorry."

You sigh and turn away from me. Still angry. "I'm gonna go get a washcloth to clean this up."

"I'm sorry," I whisper. You walk into the hallway. Oh, darling. Darling.

I close the door and the lock clicks.

"I'm sorry I'm in love with you."