Seren had barely released the horrifying words into the air before passing out. The rhythmic breathing coming from her chest was the only thing keeping me from ending up in jail right now. I was sure of it. Each gentle push of air from her lungs reminded me that she needed me here.

She needed me here, so I can't go do what I really wanted to do.

While there was a small, tiny piece of me that wanted to wake her up and beg her for clarification, the rest of me had instantly accepted her words.

How the fuck didn't I see it? It was right there. It had been staring at me in the face this whole week. How had I not seen it?

I've never understood, before now, the obsession that teenage guys have with putting holes through drywall.

Even at my darkest times, after Henry, when my spirit was broken, my mind held only question marks, and my body only knew rage... I didn't understand.

I've never felt the need to put my fist through a wall. I've never felt anger like that.

Until now.

I looked down at my already bruised fist, still red and inflamed from the imprint it had taken of Jax's face today. I had almost felt bad for hitting him earlier. Almost.

I was replaying it over and over in my mind now. The feel of his nose against my knuckles. The surprised look on his disgusting face. It was the only image in my head. Over and over. Replaying in a loop. I could barely help myself as that awful word left his lips at the school. Slut. As soon as he said it, it's like my fist acted on impulse.

I continued pacing around Seren's room. I've lost track of time. I don't know if it's been three minutes since I heard those words, or three hours.

I needed to be here, with her. Yet I needed to kill Jax.

The rhythm of her breathing was the only thing I concentrated on. In, out. In, out. In, out.

How dare he? How dare he?

I felt my eyesight pulled by the yellow bottle of pills on the nightstand. I picked them up, dragging my fingers along the now worn out label. Just days ago this label had looked brand new, despite being years old. I closed my eyes in pain as I imagined her wringing her hands on the bottle, trying desperately not to take them but unable to deny herself the escape they provided. Who could ever blame her for that?

How the fuck didn't I see it? She had been crying for help. She had been SCREAMING for help.

I tightened my grip on the plastic bottle, fearing it might crack and split open when something else caught my eye. The drawer to the nightstand was open, and I recognized the two white envelopes that were laying inside. They were the same as the envelope that I had found in her locker on the day she didn't come to school.

I had an internal debate on whether to reach in the drawer, pull these letters out and read them. She told me I shouldn't haven't read the last one. But, is Jax the one sending her these letters? How concerned for her continued safety do I need to be? I flinched as the memory of Jax pulling into her driveway on the weekend entered my mind, and as if that memory alone convinced me, I grabbed the envelopes.

I needed Seren safe. I needed her safe.

I didn't think there was room for any other emotion to be flowing through me. Anger, was the loudest. Disgust, was close behind. A waterfall like I've never before felt of both sympathy and empathy. Shock. Sadness. Pain.

But after reading those letters, after reading Jax's delusional words, another emotion erupted.

Guilt.