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[ The look Hei gives her then is soft and blindish and bewildered, like he can't believe how dense she is. His body feels hollow now, a cold wind blowing through him even as his skin feels clammy in the still air. Remorse and I'm Sorrys have never been for the likes of him. But part of him feels them all the same, with a yearning sort of incomprehension, like an academic half-wit in a roomful of A graders, full of stymied willingness to try. His voice is suddenly cut down to the force and volume of a kewpie doll's. ]

I wouldn't be here if I wasn't sorry. [ For hurting her. For carrying on this mess with her. For touching her in the first place, that night in the shed. All of this could've been avoided, if he'd kept less alcohol and more wits about him. ]