Matthew
The darkness of the guestroom presses in on me, suffocating and oppressive. I toss and turn, the sheets twisting around my legs like restraints. My eyes burn as I stare at the ceiling, the events from earlier replaying in my mind on an endless loop.
"Damn her," I growl, my voice harsh in the silence. "Damn her to hell."
But even as the words leave my lips, an unwelcome pang of guilt twists in my gut. I grit my teeth against it, willing the feeling away. I won't let her make me weak. I can't.
"She deserved it," I mutter, trying to convince myself. "After what she did…"
The memory of Sarah's wide, frightened eyes flashes through my mind. The soft gasp of pain as I—
No. I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms. I won't think about that. I won't let myself feel sorry for her.
It was all an act. She's playing me, just like before. I can't fall for it again.
But doubt gnaws at me, persistent and infuriating. What if she really didn't know? What if this whole time…
