My pulse beat harder in my neck, the rapid rhythm of trying to fight off the memories. The sticky feeling of her blood between my fingers. Her fading heartbeat. The knowledge that I’d failed her. She’d almost died because of me. Because I’d let Nash distract me. I might as well have been holding the gun myself.
I get that this is traumatic but idc for this trope too much..the itwasmy fault-when it wasnt- so ill hold On to the guilt/blame forver
