Send “It’ll help if you talk about it,” and my character will confide in yours a memory or nightmare they’ve had that’s been bothering them.
There were times when Derek woke up, a thin sheen of sweat coating his body, where his heart thundered against his rib cage, beating so fast that it almost reminded him of the way a rabbit’s heart sounded when being hunted.
“I told her.”
It was muttered, his voice not quite managing its usual deep tones, coming out croaky, choked, like it was caught in his throat.
“I told her not to come back here, and she did it anyways.”
Why was he telling her all of this again? Pack. Lydia was pack, and even though he knew that they didn’t see eye to eye on most things, he knew that he could trust her. His wolf trusted her anyways.
“I told her not to come back, and she did, and now she’s dead.”
“It’s my fault.”
He didn’t think he’d spoken so much in front of the banshee as he had now, but he found couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop. He knew Laura would haunt his ass if she found out just how much her death was weighing on him, would tell him that it wasn’t his fault, just like she had all those nights when she would place a comforting hand on the back of his neck and whisper that the fire wasn’t his fault. He never did tell her what happened, but he had a feeling that she knew, and that just made his stomach lurch all over again.
“She’s dead, and it’s my fault. Just like the rest of my family. They’re dead because of me.”
