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17. Salt In The Wound.

DANE

I am still a fucking coward.

That night two years ago. This night two years after.

I am right here, standing at her door with my fist raised towards it to knock. I keep trying to connect my fist to the door, to fucking knock, but the more I hear her sobs, the harder and clearer the truth keeps hitting down on me.

A truth that keeps stabbing me like a cruel knife to the chest.

It is all my fault. I am the cause of the pain she is going through. And I must be really stupid to think that I can take that pain away by coming here and… and trying to know if I can….

“Damn you Dane,” I curse to myself as I step away from the door and lean on the wall near it, closing my eyes.

What the hell am I fucking doing? I think I am going mad. Was I expecting her to just open the door for me after I knock?

Even if she does open the door, what then? What the fucking hell I am going to say?

Sorry?

I chuckle sadly at my miserable, stupid self. I might not even get the chance to even say that pathetic
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