Murderer. I spit the word in your face, and you take it silently, eyes cast downwards. Yelling at you feels good, it feels righteous. The words rise, harsh and terrible and cold and true. You killed her, you know that? She was god's gift to the world, a new flower in a wasteland, and you destroyed her. Oh, you didn't put the gun to her head, comfort yourself with that thought. She went ahead and did it herself, after what you put her through.
 
I hate you. She gave you all she had, and you repaid her with abuse. She loved you, and you played with her like a toy. When she bored you, you threw her away. The bruises on her arms, the black eyes, the bloody nose - they healed in time, but the worst wound in her life never healed. You never left her alone, you stayed in place like a tumor. You were a malicious growth, and you strangled her life away until she extended you a final courtesy, and finished the job herself. Oh, she was nothing if not polite. I didn't read the note, but I can guess what it was - she apologized, didn't she? She apologized for the pain her death will cause you. The pain you rightly deserve, the pain I hope never leaves you.
 
That's what you need, really. For the life you took, repay with a life of torment. I want the image of her face to never leave your thoughts. I want your nights to be a torment, and your days to be a continuous nightmare. You don't deserve to just end it, like she did. No, you have to live through this. Live, and know your guilt. Know you're responsible at every waking moment. This is your redemption. Pain and guilt are your redemption.
 
Your eyes are still cast down. I know my words have left an effect, I can hear it in your breathing. You hate yourself, and you should.
 
Without a word, you turn around and walk away.
 
I am left alone, in front of the empty mirror, breathing heavily. In my chest I can feel them, my pain and my guilt. I deserve them both.