The door opens. You're met with a person, a real person. He's familiar to you, right? You know him. You know this person. You can't find his name, it lands like a beached whale on your tounge. Emotions start gnawing at your throat, nearly demanding to be let out like the venom it is. Your breathing goes heavy. Why don't you know him? You should. It should be effortless to greet him like a normal person.
But you're not normal, are you? You know that. You have no proof, but you know that. It snarls at you. His name catches in your throat, catching on the edges of your vocal chords. It just won't come out.
He takes off his sunglasses and looks at you.
"I was hoping to never see you again."
It would've been better to have been shot.
A small sob escapes the vicious knot of emotion building within you. Blood quietly drips down your hand. You don't know whether to hug him or kill him. Something tangible finally leaves your mouth.
"I'll go."
You know, implicitly, that you deserve all of this. You are a miserable person, to yourself and other people. You may as well turn yourself in. They may as well give you a stiff dose of pentobarbital already. There really is no saving you, is there?
You feel a hand on your shoulder. You know, implicitly, that it's real.
"I'm not letting you go anywhere, alright?"
What was he doing? He wants you gone, he just said so. Why won't he let you? He's trapping you again, isn't he? What are you but a bird kept in a cage in someone's kitchen anyway?
You're tempted to pull away, but his touch is a comforting one. It's the only pure, uncorrupted thing here. Even your body isn't exempt from it. You hate to let him give said corruption to himself. He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve the kind of torture you do.
You look back at him, and you can't help but feel bad about yourself. Your tainted hand takes his arm and lifts it off of your shoulder, and you fall into his arms. You cannot bear to look at him.