Broken Boulder if not for my shoulders

As she spoke, Alarian thought maybe he was beginning to understand; maybe this wasn't about him at all. He had made clear what would help him— solitude, or at least a damn change of subject. But he was realizing this wasn't about what would help him.
He swallowed hard, knowing he could not offer his friend what she needed. The truth was, he didn't want help— not right now, not from anyone. A piece of his soul had been ripped from him, more cruelly than he had thought possible, and he did not want help. Alarian couldn't allow anyone near, not until he had staunched the grief bleeding from him. For his own sake, but for theirs too; he would not pretend himself unselfish, but he knew his selfishness well enough to know he could not shield his loved ones from the bite of his grief unless he removed himself entirely.
If Lily needed simple verbal affirmation, he could try; if she needed a project to feel reassured, he could not fill that role.
I don't, He admitted. But, Lily, it's not you— I just need time. Alarian paused— then, more softly: I know I don't handle these things well; I'm sorry. I can't be there for Lanawyn, either, and I— He swallowed hard. It's not that I don't care. I'm just broken. And not in a tragic, heart-wrenching way, he thought; in a way that was ugly, that hurt everyone he loved. In a way that made him hate himself above all else.