He's gone. Even as I say it, it feels wrong. The words are heavy and bitter on my tongue as I try to force away all the things I could have done. I should have taken better care of him. I could've walked him to his car.
I should've told him, while I still had a chance.
I held it in so long, hoping he'd figure it out. Turns out CSIs are the worst when it comes to common sense. We're both guilty on that count. I never told him, and I can't say I never had the chance. If I'd just told him, maybe he'd have been more careful. Maybe I'd still have him. Maybe he'd be in my bed, instead of the cold, damp ground.
Maybe.
Could've. Should've. Would've.
Didn't.
And now it's too late. There's nothing I can do to change what happened. There's just nothing left I can do.
THE END