How did I get here? Tears are streaming down my face as I lay on the bed. In the immortal words of Misha Mikado, maybe it’ll all be better if I was just dead. I betrayed that woman’s trust in a way that might have even pushed her off the edge. I’ll never be able to apologize, because I’ll never be able to face Hanako ever again. I don’t think she’ll ever find the strength in the world to forgive me for what I’ve done. Perhaps I should start from the top.
 
        Hanako has, simply put, trust issues. Her more than imperfect past left both a physical and mental scar on her. When her house burned down, she was left powerless as her parents and family melted. The scars on the right half of her body serve as a constant reminder of that. When there’s nobody you think you could blame, the only natural response is to blame yourself. And that’s what she did. She lived her life away from everybody save for one person, just so that she could feel like she didn’t exist. Just so she could run away from the possibility that it was her fault, considering she was the lone survivor.
 
        It’s been over a year since the first time she opened up to me. She told me about her past, about her family. I feel like there really was a connection, some form of invisible bond that only a couple of people in love could feel. It was clear that we fell in love the moment we saw each other. We just didn’t know it yet until we brought it to each other’s attentions.
 
        So there we are, spending her birthday together. She’s come a long way from that timid, nervous girl who couldn’t handle any regular social situation, but somehow her birthday brings back all of the memories. I wish I could comfort her, but every time I try to bring it up she completely shoots me down. It’s like exchanging emotions with a brick wall whenever her birthday comes around. This made me frustrated.
 
        Somehow an argument broke out between the two of us. She shouts that I could never understand the pain. Sure, I could never understand what it’s like to feel powerless to stop your parents from being burned alive, but at least I could somewhat empathize if she explained it properly. It’s much like this situation. She’s convinced that I would never be able to walk in her shoes, so she doesn’t even bother.
 
        I don’t know how that discussion ended, but I know it ended with something forceful. I lost control. The frustration, the anger, the constant barrage of her telling me I won’t understand or that I won’t get it. It all hit me with the force of a million trucks hitting the Berlin wall at the same time. That’s when I snapped. A swift slap to the face created silence all over the studio apartment room currently occupied by only the two of us. The silence is quickly filled with thoughts of regret inside my head. What have I done? All that time she’s learned to trust me, to let me protect her should she need it, and there I go being the thing that causes her pain.
 
        I wanted to die. I wanted to just off myself right there in front of her because I know it would be the only way for her to ever truly forgive me. But no, I just stood there, watching her sob with my jaw reaching two floors below us. And now, I’m lying here on our bed, in our bedroom, in our apartment, not knowing whether or not she’s still sitting on the couch outside. Because I’m too much of a coward to face her in the state that I put her in.