He killed her. This woman, Crichton, fuck, who else? How many people are walking around with trauma and bad memories, all attached to his fucking face?
Not for the first time since coming back to himself, Jeff feels sick and overwhelmed with dread, guilt, horror, self loathing, every unhappy feeling he can cram into himself. What can he even say? How can he even begin to set anything right?
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He killed her. This woman, Crichton, fuck, who else? How many people are walking around with trauma and bad memories, all attached to his fucking face?
Not for the first time since coming back to himself, Jeff feels sick and overwhelmed with dread, guilt, horror, self loathing, every unhappy feeling he can cram into himself. What can he even say? How can he even begin to set anything right?
"I-- sorry, I'm-- I'm sorry. I can go."