Barrons lifts his head and stares straight at me, a few feet above my indent on the sofa. “It was my crime, too. I may not have been there to see it, but I’ve seen it in my head every fucking day since.” “I was the one that got raped.” “I was the one that failed to save you.” “And because you blamed yourself—” “I wasn’t the only one blaming me.” “I didn’t blame you for not saving me,” I growl. It’s nobody’s responsibility to save me but mine.” “You blamed me for letting them live.” “I did—” not is what I intended to say. But I’m startled to realize that he’s right.
