Suicidal Tendencies

"I killed my best friend. Or at least I think I did. I was part of it or I think I am. I caused it or - no. I killed my best friend. That's it. That's my story." Matt could feel his whole chest constrict and his breathing get labored and the familiar stinging behind his eyes. His fists clenched, unclenched, clenched again, tighter and tighter.
"Why do you say that, Matthew?" Dr. Sanchos asked quietly, observing the grown man's actions; how he tensed and his voice grew heavy; how his eyes cast downward, his lashes covering the glassy hazel eyes.
"She's fucking dead, metaphorically or physically; I don't know which, but I know she's dead."
"Was there a funeral?"
"No."
"Then how do you know she's dead?"
"I saw the life leave her eyes, her smile vanish, her skin pale. I saw her die." The man said, running his fingers through his buzzed hair. How couldn't the doctor understand that he killed his best friend? Wasn't she a psychiatrist or some shit like that? Shouldn't she be making him feel better? Why did she just asking meaningless questions?
"Matthew, if you killed her, why are you here? Why didn't you report yourself to the police?" Dr. Sanchos asked, trying to understand what exactly Matt was trying to aim at.
She watched as the burly man took in a deep breath, raised his eyes and met her gaze straight on. It was intimidating and the doctor rarely felt intimidated by her patients, but this one; she just couldn't place her finger on it.
"Have you ever hurt or betrayed someone that you see the light in their eyes dim and they become guarded, Doctor?" He asked.
"I've seen it happen before; yes." She replied.
"That's what happened to her. The light in her eyes dimmed, she stopped smiling. Her walls went straight up and the became cold. I killed her."
"Ah, you metaphorically killed her, Matthew. She's technically still alive, correct?"
Matt gave a slow nod, "I hope."

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Rated R for attempted suicide, possible sex, language, you get the picture and you've been warned.