Monster
Kyoko cried, because of what he made her.
She was a monster.
She would have killed him that day. Given half a chance she would have throttled him to death, and, if the opportunity arose, she knew she wouldn't hesitate to try again. Even now, kneeling there, horrified at what she could have done, she still longed to wrap her fingers around his neck and squeeze the life from him.
Every time she held a knife, she imagined sheathing it between his ribs. She imagined that it was his flesh she cleaved, rather than that of the fruit and vegetables on her chopping board. It frightened her, what she had become in his presence, what she would become again.
It scared her. Just the mere thought of him made her blood boil.
He had been her everything, her reason for living. He had torn out her heart and left a black hole in her chest.
She hated him so much and yet...
She slammed her fist into the ground, watching in faint interest as the blood trailed down her hand, dripping to ground.
... he was still her reason for living.
She hated him. She hated him for what he had made her. She hated the way she lost control around him. She hated him because she couldn't love anymore. She hated him for making her hate.
And so Kyoko cried, the salty water stinging her raw knuckles.