Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki, Shueisha Inc. Not mine, please don't sue. *huggles Soujirou plushie*

A/N: Written for English exam! Gods, I love my random inspiration bouts. And I'm glad the topic was there to suit it. How perfect. ^^ Scored 28 out of 40 for this. It's a little short for a fic thought, but nevermind. R&R please!

Summary: Kenshin's thoughts following Kaoru's "death". Written in Kenshin's POV, major angst.

Regret

Rurouni Kenshin fanfiction by Toraneko

"I want you to experience hell, just as I did ten years ago." The dark shadow loomed over me for a few seconds before it disappeared into the smoke that had surrounded us.

"Wait! You-" I was suddenly thrown aside and pinned to the wall by a large fist. Menacing eyes pierced through me, as if searching me, condemning my every sin. I thrashed and struggled, but no matter how much I tried, my opponent was just too strong for me. Blood spurted out of my old wounds, staining the clothes I wore. I gritted my teeth in pain.

Suddenly, the huge figure wavered and stumbled to the ground. Subsequently, the hand around me loosened its grip and I was free. My two friends had attacked him. One of them gave me a look that said, "Leave this to us." Without a word, I turned and ran toward the dojo.

As I ran, I knew with a sickening certainty that I would not be able to make it in time. I did not want to think that way. I knew he was after her. I knew he was going to get her.

I stopped at the door of the dojo. My eyes widened in shock. I could not believe my eyes. I was too late. My friends called my name, but I did not hear. Tears formed in my eyes as my knees buckled and I stumbled to the ground.

What good was a man if he could not protect his loved ones? What good was a sword technique if it could not defeat the enemy? What good am I if I cannot save the one that I love?

Warm tears flowed out of my eyes, unable to be kept in any longer. I could not take in the sight before me. It was too much.

She had been stabbed. Once, through the chest. His sword was still jutting out. A cross scar had been engraved on her left cheek, similar to my own. Her eyes were still open, but they were not sparkling and full of life as they should be; they were blank and expressionless.

Do you think she felt the pain?

Yes, I do not deny the fact that I had once been a killer myself. I killed hundreds of men. I preferred to end it quickly. It was agonising for both parties. I could not feel the pain they were going through.

I disliked it when they died with their eyes open. I may have been a ruthless killer, but I did have a heart.

I never killed women and children.

I killed only men. Men who opposed the government.

I did not want to think about it. I could just sit and rot. I could kill myself. No one else was to be blamed except me. It was my fault. Someone kill me.

What good was a man if he could not protect his loved ones?