She starred at him, eyes burning from the hot tears she had cried, stinging from the length of time she'd been crying and tired from the time this had lasted. His head was hung low, and his hand was clasped around a glass, she hated that, she hated that more than he knew. Drink was for weak people. She let out a sigh and his head shot up. His eyes met hers and his glass hit the wall across the room, with a loud smash.

"Don't look at me like that," he hissed, she let out a chuckle.

"How am I supposed to look at you?" His head hung again. He slowly stood walking the room to tower over her. She didn't look up, she wouldn't. He dropped to his knees and pressed his face into her lap, sobbing loudly a repetitive "Sorry," escaping his lips. A lump hitched in her throat and she felt like throwing up. She heaved, and pushed him out of the way to run to the bath room.

He sat on the floor of the front room, the sound of her vomiting ringing in his ears. Did he repulse her that much? Had what he'd done physically made her sick? He let out a thick gasp, and struggled to his feet. He shivered as he made his way to the bathroom, he rubbed one arm with the opposite hand in order to warm himself, and partly because he didn't know what to do with his hands.

She sat on the floor her dry eyes still trying to cry, and she hugged her knees tight to her chest. She flinched back when he entered the room. She hated him, she just couldn't find the strength to leave. His pathetic "Sorrys," the way he cried, most of all the way he begged. He was ruined. He wasn't the same at all.

"I'll never stop loving you," he whispered "I'll never stop loving you."