She unwillingly met his gaze, her gut churning in fear at what new expression of his she'd find staring back at him. Contempt? Wariness? Not even the adults had spared her their long looks in the grocery stores and malls.<span style="font-style: italic">Looks just like her father. Freak.</span>She was coiled  under his hands, ready for it. Instead...<br/><br/><br/>They were both blaming themselves. The stupidness of the situation almost made her laugh. It was obvious to her that he had done nothing wrong. He had been perfect, literally perfect in her eyes and all of this mess could have been avoided if she hadn't started slacking at holding her shit together. But that was just the thing. She couldn't keep things perfect anymore, and he ... he had every right to the questions and the frustration. But he was being hard at himself ... for things not being perfect. She saw a new side of him in that moment. She saw the insecurity that bubbled beneath his usual quips and smiles. And for some god forsaken reason, she saw him ... fighting for her.<br/><br/>"I don't understand..." Maybe she had misjudged him? She hesitated, then raised a clamy hand and cupped his cheek. "This doesn't feel real. I don't know what to say. I don't... " What did being open even mean? She flailed, then settled for saying the most honest thought in her mind. "I don't deserve you. I don't like like that I've done this to you. I don't like seeing you blame yourself," her words were a little thick, the alcohol playing its part. She slowly uncoiled, her hand dropping to his arm. "I don't like any of this."