I could see that understanding as clear as his hate.I pulled a set of clothes and a bar of soap from my pack, then unlocked the handcuff for the first...time since I put it on him, looking at the torn skin underneath. It would heal – but he’d always have those scars.“Get cleaned up and get dressed. We’ll go get something to eat and get you settled into your new home. We have an abandoned hotel. Even has heating.”He nodded, an undying hatred simmering behind his eyes.That hatred was always there,. It wasn't.I remember that afternoon. My stomach knotted as though I was going to throw up. I felt a lead weight on my heart. Mostly, I felt despair. Fucked up again. The evidence was quite clear. "Clear," in fact, described the result perfectly. Virtually no detail at all in the negatives. Nothing. Zilch. Nothing I could salvage, even with the hardest highest-contrast paper I could find. It was hopeless. I felt like shit. Like failure. Dad wouldn't have approved, I'm sure of that.Just a fuckup.. More

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