JARED'S POV
--
A coat of sweat covers my skin, making me slippery and soaked. My muscles ache from bunching and kcking the bag, over and over, yet I can't stop, because all I see is the fear in her eyes, every single time. I despise myself more and more, wishing that I never told her, wishing that she didn't find that man in pieces. I wish that she just...I don't know...accepted me. I throw my hand forward with every bit of strength I have, putting my weight behind it as I punch the bag, and it swings. I tip toe to the other side, moving quickly and hit it again, and again, and again.
My mind is roaring with memories of her, which is mixed with the memories of every face, every voice of each person who's life I've ever taken. "When did you become this person?" the way her voice shook li
