Trembling with anger and grief, Carl stood there with the limp girl hanging from his hands. She was completely unconscious, he could tell. Only this morning, he'd felt such love for her. He was completely devoted. But she had betrayed him. Now, he could only feel anger. He wanted to see her hurt as badly as he was hurting. He wanted her to grieve as much he did.<br/><br/>When his arms finally grew tired of holding her up, he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. Though she was limp and unresponsive to his embrace, he imagined that she was hugging him back as her head flopped onto his shoulder. Her arms hung limp at her sides, but he imagined them sliding around his body to hold him close. His anger evaporated as quickly as it had come, to be replaced by an unbearable, endless well of sadness. His love was forever lost to him. He didn't know what had caused it, but something he had done had driven her away. She no longer loved him.<br/><br/>A cry of grief escaped his lips and he squeezed her tighter, then pressed his lips to her hair. His cheeks felt wet and he realized he was crying. His knees gave way and he sank to the ground with her cradled in his lap. For a very long time, he simply held her there.<br/><br/>When he finally pulled her away, he became aware that his shirt was moist. Looking down, he saw the blood soaking his shirt. His eyes slowly moved up to look at her as he remembered the cuts he'd carved into her skin. He barely remembered doing it, and had to struggle to recall the reason behind the symbol he'd carved. It was a rough image, the lines not nearly as neat and clean as they would be if he'd drawn them on paper, but the image was easily recognized as a bird in flight. It would have been a beautiful drawing were it not carved into her flesh in dozens of tiny cuts. The blood still seeped from most of them. He remembered her stuggling against him, causing the knife to cut deeper than he intended. Only then did he notice how pale she was, how shallow her breathing had become, how cold she felt. All around him, the wood was stained with blood.<br/><br/>"No!" he cried, his voice full of tears of grief, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... Please... wake up. I'm sorry..."<br/><br/>When she didn't stir, he lifted her and carried her out into the main room, laying her gently on the couch. Leaving her only for a moment, he hurried to a cabinet and pulled out the first aid kit and a stack of towels. His own cuts, still bleeding, went completely unnoticed as he returned to her side. Working quickly, hands moving with practiced precision, he began to clean the wounds and dress them with ointment. He knew she'd lost a lot of blood, but that she would be fine if he could get the wounds to stop bleeding, clean them, and get fluids into her. This in mind, he set to work.