Getting out of bed as carefully as I can, as not to wake or disturb Craig, I move to the bathroom, closing the door--though not all the way. I look at myself in the mirror--I look like shit, too old right now. Splashing some water on my face, I realise that doesn't help, not at all.
Closing my eyes I let the tears fall--tears I held in check because of the two men in the next room. I'm the strong one, no time for tears then. I'm the protector but I didn't do an overly good job of it, did I? I let Craig get hurt in his own home. I told Orlando it wasn't his fault, and it's not. It's not my fault either, but it certainly feels like I let them down. Did my assurances sound as hollow to Orlando as they felt to me.
I slide to a sitting positon, leaning against the counter, arms resting on my knees. There are still hot tears running down my face--but they are't the kind of tears that leave you feeling better, they are the kind that just leave you feeling even more desolate and empty.
Why did this have to happen? And to Craig? I really will kill that bastard if I get my hands on him, I swaer to god I think I will.