The footsteps faded into the distance.
I slid down the wall, sitting on the floor and leaning my head back.
"I hate you," I whispered, my voice cracking. It hurt just to look at him.
"We almost kissed," I added bitterly. "Gross."
I felt his body shift uncomfortably beside me. We sat in awkward silence, the air thick and suffocating. I wanted to say something—anything—but it was him. The one person I should've hated more than anyone was sitting inches away from me.
After a while, the front door slammed shut. Kyle stood and flicked the light back on, reaching for the knob.
"It's locked."
Silence.
"You're joking, right?" I said, staring at him.
"Does it look like I'm joking?" he shot back.
My stomach dropped.
"Should we call someone or something?" I asked, trying not to sound bitchy—though I knew I failed.
He glanced at me, unimpressed.
"Yeah. Like who? They're all either drunk or hooking up. And I don't think either of us wants to be seen together."
He leaned back against the wall, resting his head there. Something was eating at him—I could tell. I wanted to ask what was wrong. I was supposed to hate him. And yet something in me ached to hold him, to tell him everything would be okay.
"So what are we supposed to do now?" I asked quietly.
"I don't know," he muttered. "I'm sitting in a closet with a killer."
My chest tightened.
"I'm sorry for whatever I did to you," I said, my voice shaking, "but I'd really appreciate it if you stopped saying that. I already feel guilty enough, okay?"
I looked at him, tears blurring my vision. His expression shifted—just slightly. Guilt, maybe. Or recognition.
"I fight with myself every fucking day," I continued. "If I had just been there… I failed him."
I leaned forward, pressing my palms into the floor, trying to keep myself together. I was exhausted—emotionally hollow. Admitting that felt dangerous. Weak. Like I didn't deserve to grieve this loudly.
"Kyle…" I whispered, staring at my hands.
"Do you actually think I killed him?" My voice broke. "I—I didn't want him to die."
I looked at him, finally.
"I never wanted him to feel that kind of pain. I loved him."
The moment the words left my mouth, panic hit. I hadn't meant to say that. I hadn't meant to say any of it.
Kyle was staring at me.
I quickly reached up and shut the light off, my chest heaving. Before I could react, I felt him move closer—then his arms were around me.
I broke.
I sobbed into him, completely giving in. He didn't say anything. He didn't know how. He just held me.
I felt him shake.
Was he… crying too?
"I blame myself too," he said quietly. "God, I was such an asshole to him. I regret every fucking minute of it, Emma."