He shifted uneasily from foot to foot, waited, then pressed the doorbell again.
“Jo?” he called, staring hopelessly at the door. “Please, I just wanna talk.”
“Jo, just give me a chance. A minute. That’s all I need.”
Slowly he sank the ground. “Look, Jo,” he whispered hoarsely, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. What I said yesterday – I’m sorry.”
Despairingly, he looked down at the bouquet of roses he held – an offering of apology. “I never meant to hurt you,” he croaked. “I love you so much. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“I’ll… I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?”
Tears ran freely down his cheeks but that didn’t matter. He got up, one hand finding the doorknob, gripped it for support, for comfort; twisted it, knowing it would not—
The door clicked open.
He froze. Jo would never leave her door open.
Hesitantly he stepped inside, looked around.
His breath caught in his throat.
A choking gasp: “Jesus Christ—”
The roses fell to the bloodstained floor.