She stood against the wall, staring at me, making sounds in her throat. One of her cheeks was starting to puff.
I started for her again. Her eyes got even wider.
"Ash!"
Her voice was high and frightened. Somehow, it cut through the deadly anger in my chest, and made me stop.
"Ash! Please—Ash—I...." She put her hands up to her face and stood there, sobbing into them.
My nails were digging into my palms. I opened my hands, and saw blood running over my knuckles where the tape had torn away. There was some of my blood on her dress, where I'd grabbed her shoulder.
"Ash! Please—I'm sorry—It—it's just that I didn't know what to think."
I don't know how I got over to her, but then I had my arms around her, and she was digging her teeth into the cloth of my shoulder, and sobbing.
"Pat, why do you have to be this way? Why can't you—" I was saying, and stroking that red-brown hair. She wasn't a tough, self-assured woman who could gun a man down without blinking. She was a soft, hurt, crying girl, mumbling through tears, her body shaking.
I wasn't a guy who'd fought his way through a war and countless battles since, either.