His eyes shot open to focus on her. What use was he alive? He sat in this house, of which he knew like the back of his hand now, doing nothing. He had made the wrong decision, he had acted rashly, but it had all been in an attempt for good intention.
And he had failed.
What use was he anymore?
"I do trust you," he said, his voice small in reply to that. He was sick of shouting. The longer they continued to do so, the more and more he felt the feelings of sickness and guilt. He had not thought of that. Once again, she was right. He had not thought. He shut his eyes once again, letting out a heavy sigh. "I wanted to help," was all he managed to say, as if he felt that he needed to say it again. Perhaps he was wrong...he had made things worse...but he had genuinely thought he was going to help in his own small way.