Back to the Present;
Wil gripped his hair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His body was hunched on the edge of the hotel room's window seat, fingers tangled in his curls, pulling like he could rip the regret out by force. "No, no, no…" he muttered under his breath, rocking forward slightly. "What the hell did I do last night?"
His voice cracked on the last word. He didn't need a playback to remember it, it all came back like a wrecking ball. The loose tongue. That godawful smirk. And then, the words. Those damn words.
He cursed under his breath and stood up, only to pace three frantic steps before turning back again like a cornered animal. "I said it," he whispered, horrified. "I actually said it. In front of both of them. All those things… I even confessed that I'm…"
He stopped himself, eyes wide, breath catching. "A murderer," he whispered to no one. The word hung in the air like smoke, thick and choking.
