Page 129 of Uprising

I’ve got a plastic bag wrapped around my left arm, protecting the cast. Somehow I managed to remember it but my right hand is uncovered and the tape holding my fingers together is unpleasantly wet.

I sit here, scrubbing what feels like all the blood still marring my skin, only I know that’s also in my head. That it’s not actually there.

And then I break down entirely. Sobbing, crying, letting it all out as the water pours down.

I did this. I caused this. I got Ty killed.

If I’d kept my mouth shut, if I’d kept quiet, he’d still be alive.

But then Sofia would still be suffering wouldn’t she? And perhaps none of this would have happened, that the city wouldn’t have risen up, that I would still be with Darius. At his mercy.

I wail again, hating the fact that in so many ways I had to choose, I had to decide, even though I didn’t know it at the time.

I never liked Ty, not growing up. He was always mean to me. Not as mean as Tybalt. But still.

And now, all that resentment, all those old memories twist in my head.

I can see it, the time he pulled my hair when I was six. The time he spat in my food when no one was looking. And when he and Tybalt pushed me into the mud and then my mother lost her shit when she saw me all dirty and beat me so hard for it because she thought I’d done it on purpose.

I cry harder. Hating that I hated him. Hating that I never told him how grateful I was. How much at the end, his help, his words, his moments of kindness were what got me through each day.

I never even said thank you.

Not properly. Not enough.

I let him die. I sat there, seeing that gun, seeing that smirk on Otto’s face and if I admit it, I hate that he accepted it, I hate that he didn’t fight. God, I wish he’d blamed me. Why didn’t he blame me? Why didn’t he say that I’d tricked him, that I was the traitor. Hell, he could have said anything, he should have said anything.

But he didn’t. He just took it. He took that bullet like he deserved it. When in reality I was the one who should have died. I deserved it. After everything, after every stupid mistake, every moment in my life that I allowed myself to be outmanoeuvred. I deserved that bullet for becoming the weak creature they all think I am. I deserved it. Not him.

“Rose?”

I don’t look up. I don’t even acknowledge him.

I’m sat here, naked, pathetic, sopping wet and covered in tears.

He climbs in, ignoring the fact that the water is still cascading down and that he’s fully clothed. And he wraps a towel around me to cover my body, and holds me so tightly in his arms.

“It’s okay.” He murmurs.

“No it’s not.” I sob. It’s not okay. None of this is okay.

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t answer me. He just stays there, letting me cry, letting me wallowing, letting me have this moment.

He must be drenched. He must be absolutely soaked. But he doesn’t turn the water off. He just sits there like this is all perfectly normal behaviour.

When I’ve cried myself out, I’m the one who reaches up and turns the water off, but beyond that I don’t move. I stay there, listening to his heart beating in his chest, soothing myself with a sound that I’d believed I’d never hear again.

“Where’s Lara?” I whisper.

“She’s tucked up in bed.”

My eyes widen? I don’t want her to see my like this. I don’t want her to witness me so broken. I need to protect her.

“She’s in my bed.” He says as if he can read my thoughts.

“Oh.”

He brushes a tendril of my wet hair from my face. “I thought you might want to sleep there, with her.”

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