My hands are steady. I want them to shake. I want them to tremble and crumble and be broken. I want to smash my fingers until they quake. They should be shaking. I should be uncontrollable.

"What happened?"

I can't even place the voice to a name. It's familiar. I can't lift my eyes to check. My hands are still steady.

"What the fuck happened?" The voice is angry, harsher. I should respond.

"He sacrificed his life for mine . . ." I laugh to hide the crack in my voice, the pathetic whimper building in my throat, "after all I did . . ."

Someone tries to push me aside, away from him, but don't move. I'm steady. I grip his bloody shirt, warm with his fading body-warmth. My fingers creak with how tight I hold on.

"Get away from him." The voice is loud, screaming.

Another voice starts up, softer, tone wet with tears, "He must've forgave her, he must've if he died for her."

He shouldn't have. I betrayed him, rotted our trust with my greed. He should've let me die, let me burn in hell. He would never do that, though, because he was the good-hearted one.

He was my moral compass.

My hands start slow, a small tremor before my entire body starts spasming. I constrict with loss, with grief. A sob breaks through the tightness in my throat, shattering the silence that had settled over me.

Pain, that's all I've ever known, and that's all I'll ever know. Pain is all I'll ever have.

So I wipe away my tears with a bloody, steady hand, and laugh. It sounds like shards of glass scraped against my raw, tired vocal chords.

"I knew he was stupid, but I didn't think he was stupid enough to forgive me."

There's yelling, again, and gentle shushing sounds. I don't hear much else, I'm too busy laughing. Or crying. I can't tell anymore.