My fist hit that man's jawbone, quite hard. A splitting noise echoed throughout the park.
I had never hit anyone before, and it brought a somewhat painful feeling to my knuckles. I did not care, though. It was nothing like the pain he had felt; not the man, another person. What was even worse was I could not save him; I did not even know what had happened.
I proved to be useless to him.
To think, I almost considered myself good enough for him. If only I had met him that day at the park, like he had asked me to. If only I had not been thinking about him and sitting there, instead of getting my stupid butt off of the bed and sitting next to him. If only I was not thinking about confessing, wondering what to say, hoping he would smile as I said whatever I was going to. If only I was not so nervous. If only...
I punched him again. That asshole, killing the one I loved, who did not even realize how I felt about him. I wished I were someone else; someone not so submissive, able to speak their mind without being shaky as they did, worried about what others would respond with.
If only.
"I HATE YOU!" Was that me? My lips forming those words, the sound of my voice sounding confident, yet sad, and very angry? So many emotions were in that sentence, I could not even pick out all of the rest. "I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU!" That voice repeated. Me.
The warm tears cascaded down my pale face so quickly, I was unaware of them for a moment or two. Crimson; that was the color of my fist as I felt my legs give in, my body collapsing onto the ground, sobbing, crying, weeping.
"I hate you..."
His eyes were burning into me, I could just feel it. Cold, emotionless eyes. Even though I knew he had some emotion, it felt as if he had none towards anyone besides his siblings and his lover. Did he not even care that he was the cause of my love's death? Did he not care that I was going to be completely miserable from now on? Did he not realize that everything I was feeling right now was all his fault?
No, it was not.
I forgot that quickly; it was my fault, too.
Now, I realized that his face was bleeding, and that my hand was, also. I did not care though, no, not at all. It was a bit strange, though, that the man continued to stare at me, not even wailing from the pain of a broken jaw.
As I looked up at him...in his eyes...
I saw pity.
I blinked.
"I'm...sorry..."
That was not me.
It was that man.
He was apologizing?
He was apologizing.
I felt his arms wrap around my shoulders...and I cried on him for what seemed like hours.
"I'm sorry."