DPOV
"I should've let Eddie kill you in Vegas," she muttered under her breath. Tears threatened to spill as she quickly rose and speed-walked out the church doors. I felt like she'd staked me again with the venom and heartbreak in her voice, her tears inflicted me with a pain identical to a twist of her weapon.

Why could I never do anything right by her? Because you aren't meant to have her! I'd never seen Rose Hathaway so vulnerable... except around me. Only ever around me. I had ruined her time and again. But with her wishing I was dead I hadn't just destroyed her high hopes, but I had destroyed every bit that made her, her.

I was no better than a Strigoi. I would never be any better than a Strigoi as long as I was near her. I didn't deserve forgiveness, let alone hers. I couldn't see how there was forgiveness for me, or redemption. So I didn't get how she could so easily and so resolutely believe there was. Not to mention I'd always be holding her back, weighing her down. She deserved all Ivashkov could provide her with. Notoriety, respect, social standing, love, kids, gifts... the works. He could give her everything. I didn't even have the freedom to sit or travel outside my room by myself, so I was in no way able to support her. I would ruin her career. I already had. The truth cut me deeply. Stop it! She's got Ivashkov, you're nothing better than trash to her!

I retreated to my cell of a room after grabbing breakfast at the nearby guardian café. Even my old colleagues and contacts looked at me as if I was scum and a freak show... if they looked my way. I deserved it.

After an hour or so of reading and another hour or two of attempting to get some sick joke type semblance of sleep a banging sounded on my door. A very urgent and very pissed off sounding banging... Rose, it had to be her come to kill me. I almost welcomed the idea—it would get rid of this guilt. Sighing, I moved to open the door. A fuming Hathaway stood outside.