It was you all along

Gunner shoots up on his bed, having not known Hope was in the room. With his guard down from being startled, her first few words hit him like a knife to the gut. He almost flinches as the burning behind his eyes worsens.

Not saying anything, he just watches her, listening and then glancing to the cold treat. He knew that inside was both root beer and ice cream to make the float, so it wasn't unusual for Hope to be confused as to why Bree would say it was without the ice cream... but Gunner understood.

He swallows hard as the emotions continue to build. He didn't like this feeling... almost like he were suffocating. His eyes follow Hope as she stops at the window, but he doesn't bother to explain the strange papers that were stuck there. Instead, he reaches for the cup, taking a sip as if hoping it would calm him down. It does a little, but he finds that his hands are shaking slightly. He really doesn't hear what Hope is saying, most of his concentration going towards blocking those things that made his stomach turn and his chest tighten.

Then she's in front of him again and he refocuses, managing to upturn the corner of his mouth at the mention of a vampire. "Just a... failed tactic."

Looking into Hope's eyes, the feeling of helplessness increases. He had nothing to fight with anymore. He was stuck in a prison... not only in this building, but inside his heart as well. It was a prison of guilt... shame... embarrassment... confusion.

The cup starts to freeze his palm and he places it back on the table before he drops it. He wants to get up and walk away, but his feet feel as if they're cemented in place. What was it about Hope that drove him to this point? What was it about Bree that made him feel as though he should give up the hatred of himself?

The first tear finally pushes its way to the surface. Gunner is on his feet in an instant, going to stare out the window with his back to Hope. As he feels the second tear forming, he opens his mouth to bark at Hope to get out, but for some reason the words just don't come. He didn't want anyone to see him like this, yet he didn't want to be alone. It was the most confusing feeling he'd ever experienced.

An anger builds up inside of him. An anger for these feelings. An anger for letting them in. An anger for how far he'd gotten and for where he was being held. It was an anger born of desperation... a cry for help.

It was you......... It was your fault
.......You're a murderer............. You killed your own parents
...............You're no better than a killer.............. You did it
.. You deserve to die......... How could you do that?
..You've been chasing ghosts...........
.........It was you all along

In one frustrated growl and a swift sweeping kick, the little table by the bed crashes to the floor, two of its legs snapped and scattering in several directions. Papers go everywhere, books toppling to the tile as innocent bystanders of the outburst.

Gunner's fists are balled as he breathes heavily, his back still to Hope. Then another tear comes, followed quickly by another. He sinks to his knees in complete emotional exhaustion. His eyes sting and his vision is blurred by the salty onslaught.

Curling forward, he hides his face in his hands, anguished sobs spilling forth from a tormented soul. He chokes as he gasps for breath, but there was no stopping the emotional downpour now. Crying out, his fist slams into the floor, unable to cope with the horrid guilt he felt.