It's hard not to flinch when the shirt is ripped away. It's harder still to look at Liam when he sees what's there, on the man's face. He can't tell what's running through Liam's head but he can see, once again, he's said something wrong. He can't think what. Maybe it's just him that's the problem.

His only answer is a back stained with blood-- his fault-- and silence as Liam disappears. He hugs his clothing to his chest, standing there feeling stupid, guilty, hurt, and a hundred other miserable things.

He's damned himself to Hell. He's made it through one little bit of torture, barely, with an eternity more ahead. He's not going to survive this. He's not going to make it and that's the point. Home is so, so far, lost on a choice he never should have made. This is it, he thinks, as the sob breaks and he's unable to push himself forward out of this room. This is forever.

He's terribly alone.