Henry's POV
I always had my eyes on Kenny, always observing him even when I didn't intend to—unconsciously. The cold grip of my stifling fear tightened more with each second I continued to look at him.
He seemed as if nothing mattered to him anymore, as if he were an onlooker who would disappear the moment the curtain fell.
I knew that what he had gone through couldn't be easily forgotten, yet it hadn't had to be this way. I couldn't stop the anger at him and myself for having been left behind.
It should have been both of us. If he had just taken me with him, then I wouldn't have to look at him from the standpoint of an outsider.
We could be traumatized together instead.
Doesn't he understand that I don't care what happens to me as long as I can stay by his side?
Kenny, I didn't attempt to help you breathe in the changing room; I only tried to help myself because the moment you disappeared from my sight, I was suffocated slowly until I had no life left in me.
