Aaron paced up and down as memories of Marta, her dying voice, her eyes, her panic and fear and pain, her love and her heart, her sarcasm and her caring. Every bit of her was burnt into his memory and he wasn't sure if he wanted rid of it or if he wanted to keep every single second. "Oh I won't need help but I will need to be held back from fucking every single one of them up." he growled.
Swigging from the bottle again, Aaron nodded, still pacing, "Who cares how long it takes now? Time's irrelevant. She's dead by their hand so what's the fucking point." he muttered mostly to himself.