Life was just full of wonderful things wasn't it? Yes, wonderful things, he thought grimly when watching the funeral from afar. They had told him he was welcome. Wasn't that ridiculous? Why would he be among the mourning, when it had been his fault they had lost their beloved?
They had told him it wasn't his fault. They didn't mean that though. The looks they had given him when they had met him at the hospital. The glances they had thrown his way when the doctor gave them the horrible news.
They blamed him. They blamed him with all their hearts. And he did too. There was blood on his hands, whether he liked it or not. Whether it was intentional or accidental. There was blood on his hands and it would never come off.