Alex stopped. His trembling hand still clutched the last button of his uniform, as if it were the final barrier between him and total ruin. His red, glassy eyes looked at me, searching for a sliver of certainty in the hell he was about to enter.
"After this… after all of this… you'll forgive me, right?" His voice was hoarse, almost drowned out by the whispers beginning to echo around us.
"Of course," I replied flatly.
"Promise," Alex hissed. He needed a guarantee hanging in the air, something he could cling to so this unimaginable shame would not be meaningless.
I almost laughed. Seeing him, the former golden boy, now begging for a promise like a terrified child, was deeply satisfying.
"Yes. I promise I'll forgive you."
