Liam didn't know how to feel. He knew he should be relieved but he couldn't quite manage it; he could never be relieved about this situation. He had lost his mind, again, just when he'd thought he was safe, just when he should have felt safest. "Sorry," he muttered, shaking his head as though to try and rid it of the permenant fog that surrounded the events of Sunday night. "Sorry I just... I really thought I was done, after this." He took a breath, and it turned somehow into a sound that was half a laugh, half a sob. He looked down at his hands; they were shaking. Breathe.
"You should kick me out," he said, hoarsely. "Everyone does eventually. People try to help but then... then this happens..." he lowered his head into his shaking hands and tried to fight back the tide of emotion that threatened to break through. He couldn't let it. He couldn't feel them. It could start in grief or fear or gratitude, but it would always end in anger. "I'm not safe," he muttered, almost inaudibly. "I know I'm not safe. I'm sorry, I didn't mean for... I didn't mean to hurt them, I swear I didn't."