He blames himself.
“You’re here,” I murmur. His eyes close for a second like the words hit somewhere deep.
“I’m always here,” he says.
“This wasn’t your fault,” I tell him.
He nods as if he knows, but guilt swims behind his eyes.
“I didn’t see him,” I say quietly. “I didn’t hear anything.”
Karson doesn’t respond, and I raise my hand to cover his.
“I just wanted to get some air,” I add, my voice thin but steady.
“I know, doll.”
“And I wasn’t scared,” I whisper. “Not when I went out there.”
Because why would I have been?
“I know that you have eyes everywhere,” I continue. “I knew it was safe.” The word sounds silly now as I say it.
“You don’t need to try to explain yourself, Ashlynn. You’re allowed to walk outside, or walk the casino floor if you need to get some space. You don’t need my permission.” His hands leave my face and he cups my hand, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed.
My throat tightens. Even when I was cornered in Rapture, I’ve never felt unsafe in Perdition. I knew that no matter what, my shadow was always behind me. Keeping any danger clear of me, and making it so I never had to look over my shoulder in fear as I moved throughout the casino. I wasn’t careless. I wasn’t naive. I was living. And someone decided to take that away from me.
My fingers curl weakly in his.
“I don’t want to stop living because of this,” I whisper.
His thumb brushes over my knuckles again.
“You won’t.”
I nod, blinking away the tears that threaten to fall.
I will not let whoever did this win.
“I was so sure,” I mutter, more to myself than him.
Karson’s grip tightens slightly.
“Sure of what?”
“That I was finally past needing someone to stand between me and the world.”
His gaze doesn't leave mine.
“You don’t need me to stand between you and anything.”
“I know,” I whisper. And I do. That’s what makes this different. I swallow hard, my ribs protesting the movement.
“But I need you anyway.” The words hang between us, fragile but certain. Karson stills. Not shocked or confused, just waiting.
“I’ve spent so long telling myself that what I felt back then was just some silly childhood attachment,” I continue, my voice barely holding together. “Something born out of being scared and alone. I turned it into anger when you left because it was easier to carry. Over time, that anger turned to hate.”
My fingers flex in his palm.
