Rosie looks at Charlie, trying so hard to be steady and brave and whole for them both, when everything else has fallen to pieces. She loves him more now--her best and closest friend, the one she'd trust with nearly everything--than she thinks she ever has before. "Okay," she says, the word raw and miserable in her throat. "Please."
The couch isn't far, but it feels like an age, and even when they sit it's full of all kinds of memories: movie nights, like tonight was supposed to be; their one bright Christmas all together; any number of slow, heated evenings where she and Nick got exactly as carried away as they ever wanted to be. And most of all, most overwhelming of all, the night she'd spent in his arms right after their escape from Kagura. He'd made her feel safe then, and content, and looking back Rosie had known that was the beginning of everything.
She'd had her something good, and now she'd lost it, and it's never going to return.
As Charlie goes to the bathroom to get bandages, Rosie puts a careful arm around Sabrina, holding her tight. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I'm sorry for both of us."
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The couch isn't far, but it feels like an age, and even when they sit it's full of all kinds of memories: movie nights, like tonight was supposed to be; their one bright Christmas all together; any number of slow, heated evenings where she and Nick got exactly as carried away as they ever wanted to be. And most of all, most overwhelming of all, the night she'd spent in his arms right after their escape from Kagura. He'd made her feel safe then, and content, and looking back Rosie had known that was the beginning of everything.
She'd had her something good, and now she'd lost it, and it's never going to return.
As Charlie goes to the bathroom to get bandages, Rosie puts a careful arm around Sabrina, holding her tight. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I'm sorry for both of us."