The rain beats down hard on your back, your head, your soul. Every drop adds weights to your burden, until you feel you must be carrying an ocean of hopelessness to compliment your mountain of guilt.
With every flash of lightning you see the face of the girl you killed. The rain masks your tears; of course, when have you ever let anyone see you cry?
Through the torrential downpour you finally spot a pin prick of white - though it might as well be a shining spotlight in your current predicament.
It is not hard to feel the man's hot breath spilling onto the back of your freezing neck.
You feel meaty fingers grip your shoulders and a deep baritone voice says "Welcome, this is a safe place."
You know he's lying, because it's the same lie you've told before.