I must have showered thirty times, but I still didn't feel clean. I scrubbed and scrubbed, hoping this would remove the guilt, the pain, and the anger. Fuck, there was so much anger. At Harlan, at the men, but mostly at myself. I was so angry at myself. How could I ever think going out drinking alone was a good idea? Was I new? I should've known better, but I was so tired.
My rational brain also knew this was normal, the feeling of guilt, and that it wasn't my fault. I should be allowed to go out alone. I should be free to roam as I please without worrying I might offend someone just because I exist. This could've happened to anyone. It was good it happened to me, someone who could fight back.
But fighting back wasn't killing. If I had merely injured him, I wouldn't feel bad at all. He deserved that. I was even okay with them being dead. But taking a life in such a way... I don't think I could ever be okay with that.
