Soren didn't move. He was incredibly still, too tired to look up, too tired to cry, too tired to breathe. He knew that he really had to be the logical one, he had to be the one that kept things from getting too ugly.
"I'm sorry," he croaked. He hadn't had time to be seen by Sadako or his brother, and hadn't thought to heal his own throat. It sounded like he'd gargled with acid, and he had, of sorts. He'd thrown up more times than he remembered, he'd cried for an hour, he'd beat himself up and wished that he'd kept his sharps kit. He had, much to his own chagrin, burnt his palms enough that they'd blistered. They were balled into fists so nobody was likely to see. "I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore. I can't, Sable. I thought I could try again, but - I love you, and I always will, but being married is... I can't."