The Ultimate Regret

The cell was empty. Except for the chair. The walls were white and bare; the floor metal and stained, a singular bulb hanging from the ceiling. Air circulated around the room with a strong stench of sweat and petrol, filtering out of the small window that led onto the motorway. A dull thrum of the traffic entered the room, picked up by the camera in the corner. 
There was a man sat on the chair. His hair had become unkempt and shaggy, his clothes hanging limply on his emaciated form. Wiry fingers interlinked with a clink of handcuffs. Sorrowful grey orbs were glazed under the sea of blonde, crystal tears trailing down his face. 
He had killed someone. He hadn’t meant to but he had. Holding that woman’s head under the bath water, he had felt a sick rush of supremacy, knowing that at that moment, he had power over life and death. It hadn’t lasted long. As soon has he had seen her face, contorted from asphyxiation, he had emptied his already weak stomach into the toilet. 
The attack started as self – defence. He had stopped loving her. He felt wrong still being with her. So he had tried to end it. But she took it the wrong way. She asked after another woman. He answered with the negative. His now ex-girlfriend went on a rampage. Clawing, biting, punching, kicking, he tried to calm her down, to restrain her. They’d somehow ended up in the bathroom. He hit his head on the door in the scrap and spotted the bath, still full from his wash before she came home. She began to aim her attacks in that direction. Twisting round, he switched their positions. Before she could throw another punch, her head was under the water. 
He should have let go when her grip began to loosen, when she softened in her struggles. But he continued; he held on, held her down. He killed her. He’d killed his sweet Cassie. They’d been so good together. He cursed his heart for letting her go, he blamed himself. She had done nothing wrong but his feelings had shrivelled and died, and now so had she. She was dead by his hands. He could still feel her writhing in horror in his palms. The tears fell faster now, his sobs becoming vocal, shaking his body with the strength of their guilt. It was eating him from the inside. It was his fault was all he could think; the logic of his brain had vanished hours ago. He was left with this gnawing sense of melancholy. The insanity of grief was creeping towards him and he didn’t shy away, he embraced its deserving its wrath. A monster was left in that room, any trace of the man was shot down and locked away. Jekyll was eaten by a mournful Hyde. Undeserving of his life, this beast decided to take justice into his own hands. He would avenge his beautiful Cassie, in his last moments his heart began clinging to his past feelings of love. 
Taking off his jacket, he smiled. He would love her again. He would love her in heaven. Carefully, he clambered onto the chair and adjusted the fabric accordingly. There was a thunder of footsteps coming down the corridor. It was then he remembered the camera. It would be over too soon. He kicked the chair and he heard the scream of a female police officer. 
Then he saw heaven.