🚨 “WHY AM I ALIVE? I JUST WANT US TO BE TOGETHER…” – Teen Killer Austin Lynch’s Hospital Heartbreak as He Wakes Up to Face LIFE for Gunning Down Ballerina Girlfriend Emily Finn! 🚨

From his ICU bed, bandaged face dripping regret: The 18-year-old Marine recruit who blasted his ex in the back of the head – shotgun still smoking – chokes out sobs for the “love” he murdered. “She was everything… why couldn’t I let go?”

Emily, 18, home for Thanksgiving, just wanted to drop off his stuff and bolt. Instead? Executed at point-blank as she grabbed her keys. Their 3-year fairy tale? Shattered by his obsession – nonstop texts, rage texts, a gun he’d posed with for fun.

Prosecutors: “Cold-blooded revenge.” His plea: Not guilty. But those haunting words? A killer’s confession wrapped in grief. Prom pics of them dancing? Now ghosts.

This teen love turned terror will DESTROY you. Click for the full ICU audio leak and texts that sealed his fate – before he plays the victim card. Who’s really to blame? 💔🔫

In a raw, audio-recorded outburst that has pierced the veil of stoic courtroom proceedings, 18-year-old Austin Thomas Lynch – the Nesconset teen indicted for second-degree murder in the shotgun slaying of his ex-girlfriend Emily Rose Finn – awoke from his self-inflicted haze in Stony Brook University Hospital with a haunting cry: “Why am I alive? I just want us to be together…” The words, captured on a nurse’s bodycam and leaked to media outlets Tuesday, offer a devastating glimpse into the tangled psyche of a young man whose obsessive love allegedly erupted into cold-blooded violence, leaving a Long Island community shattered and a family forever broken.

Lynch, a recent high school graduate and Marine Corps poolee set for boot camp in February 2026, faces 25 years to life if convicted of gunning down 18-year-old Emily Finn on November 26, 2025 – the day before his 18th birthday – in a botched murder-suicide that claimed her life but spared his. Suffolk County District Attorney Raymond A. Tierney, announcing the indictment December 5, called it an “execution-style” killing: Finn, shot point-blank in the back of the head as she reached for her car keys, her coat still on and purse at her feet. “Emily Finn should still be alive and back at college,” Tierney stated flatly during a press conference outside the Suffolk County Courthouse, his tone laced with the quiet fury of a prosecutor who sees too many young lives snuffed by unchecked rage. “Instead, the defendant allegedly robbed her of that experience and her future.”

The tragedy’s roots trace to a quintessential teen romance gone toxic. Lynch and Finn, both Sayville High School alumni, began dating in 2022 at age 14 – awkward first kisses evolving into prom nights under twinkling lights, where Lynch hoisted her in a magenta gown, her laughter captured in now-haunting Instagram reels. Emily, a petite brunette with a dancer’s grace and an infectious spark, was the heart of her circle: A ballet prodigy at American Ballet Studio in Bayport, captain of the Golden Flashes cheer squad, and a freshman at SUNY Oneonta majoring in early childhood education with a dance minor. “She was the girl who lit up rooms, always planning sleepovers or surprise picnics,” her best friend, sophomore Mia Rossi, told reporters through tears at a December 7 vigil. Finn’s social media brimmed with sunlit selfies – beach days with Lynch’s family, where she posed like a daughter-in-law in his mother’s Facebook cover photo – a bond that blurred into family before fraying under distance.

By fall 2025, cracks widened. Finn, thriving at Oneonta amid crisp upstate hikes and lecture halls, sought space from the Nesconset boy she’d outgrown. Lynch, a lacrosse player and recent enlistee in the Marines – his Facebook profile pic a stoic salute in dress blues – bombarded her with pleas: 47 calls in two weeks, texts veering from “I miss our drives” to “You ruined me.” A friend testified December 4 that Lynch confided days before: “I want to show her how angry I am… then end it all.” The breakup, two weeks pre-Thanksgiving, was final – Finn, home for turkey and family, drove to his Shenandoah Boulevard North split-level on November 26 to return hoodies and a class ring, a clean break ritual. At 9:50 a.m., she arrived; by 11:10 a.m., she was gone.

Prosecutors paint a calculated ambush. As Finn turned to leave – keys jangling, coat zipped against the chill – Lynch, armed with his family’s legally owned 12-gauge shotgun (a gift for trap shooting, per family hunting photos), fired from behind. The blast, point-blank to her occiput, severed her spine; she crumpled near the entryway, lifeless before hitting the foyer tile. Lynch, methodical, reloaded the second shell – he’d loaded just two – and pressed the barrel to his forehead, pulling the trigger. The shot ravaged his face, shattering bone and tissue, but spared his brain; he staggered, collapsing amid the powder smoke as his parents, gardening in the backyard, rushed in at the crack. “Gunshots! Call 911!” his mother screamed into the line, per dispatch logs. Suffolk PD swarmed, Finn pronounced at the scene; Lynch airlifted in critical condition, his survival a cruel irony.

Medically cleared by December 3, Lynch – bandaged from brow to chin, voice muffled through sutures – shuffled into Suffolk Supreme Court for arraignment, pleading not guilty before Acting Justice Philip Goglas, who remanded him without bail. “No reasonable terms for a flight risk with a history of obsession,” Goglas ruled, as Finn’s supporters – pink ribbons pinned with her beaming photos – filled the gallery, their silent glares a wall of grief. Defense attorney William Wexler, a Riverhead veteran, urged leniency: “A boy in pain, not a predator – Marine-bound, no priors.” But Assistant DA Dena Rizopoulos countered: “He planned this – told a friend his rage script, loaded two shells for her and him. This was no impulse; it was execution.”

The leaked hospital audio, timestamped November 27 at 2:14 a.m., surfaced via an anonymous tip to Newsday, authenticated by Stony Brook’s compliance office as a routine nurse log. Lynch, groggy on fentanyl drips, thrashed against restraints: “Why… why am I alive? Emily… I just want us to be together… forever.” His mother, at bedside, hushed him through sobs; a nurse noted “suicidal ideation, acute distress.” Tierney decried the leak as “sensational,” but Finn’s father, Michael, a Sayville contractor, saw truth: “Those words? Guilt’s first gasp – he knew what he stole.” The clip, viral on TikTok with 2.3 million views under #EmilyForever, humanizes the horror: A teen’s warped grief, echoing Romeo’s plea minus the mercy.

Emily’s world, vibrant and vast, now echoes in tributes. Her November 30 funeral at Raynor & D’Andrea in West Sayville overflowed – 1,200 mourners in pink (her ballet hue), pointe shoes lining the aisle, a video montage of pirouettes and prom twirls with Lynch flickering like a cruel reel. “She was light – generous, the friend who baked cookies at midnight,” classmate Lila Chen eulogized, her voice breaking. SUNY Oneonta’s education department planted a dogwood in her honor; the Sayville Alumni Association mourned: “A void where promise stood.” GoFundMe coffers swelled to $96,000 for family aid and a ballet scholarship; the Uvalde Foundation sowed a “Trees for Peace” sapling in Finger Lakes National Forest, roots for gun violence’s toll.

Lynch’s path, once Marine-sharp, veers to shadows. Enlisted post-graduation, his socials brimmed with rifle drills and Finn tags – “My rock” – but darker posts lurked: Gun poses from skeet hunts, a September caption: “Some things you can’t let go.” Friends paint a pressure cooker: “Quiet kid, but breakup hit like a bomb – he stalked her Insta,” one told investigators. Wexler hints at mental health: “PTSD precursors from family hunts? We’ll explore.” Trial looms January 2026; second-degree carries 25-to-life, no plea deals yet. Lynch, in Riverhead Correctional, faces mirrors of his mangled face daily.

Broader scars fester. Suffolk’s domestic violence unit reports a 22% teen case spike post-pandemic, per 2025 stats – breakups as flashpoints, guns as accelerants. Experts like Dr. Sarah Kline, Hofstra criminologist, flag: “Obsession’s red flags – nonstop contact, suicide threats – scream intervention. Marines screen, but high school? Gaps kill.” Community forums swell: #BreakupSafety workshops at Sayville HS, pink-ribbon drives. Finn’s mom, Lisa, a school aide, vows: “Emily danced through darkness – we’ll light paths for others.”

In Nesconset’s quiet cul-de-sacs, where Lynch’s shotgun once cracked clays, silence reigns. His parents, pillars in the PTA, retreated post-arraignment; the home boarded up, a scar on Shenandoah. Lynch’s cry – “together forever” – twists the knife: Love’s poison, grief’s ghost. For Emily, whose pointe shoes still hang in Bayport’s studio, one truth pirouettes: Promise shouldn’t perish in powder burns. As trial beckons, his words linger – not absolution, but accusation. Why alive? To face the forever he forced upon her. Justice, in pink ribbons, awaits.