"I'm sorry," she whispered, reaching up to touch her fingertips to his cheek. She could tell he was still reeling from all of this, still not healed from it all. And who could blame him? Some wounds never fully healed. "I wish you didn't have to carry all of this."
Ginger wasn't sure how to process all that he was saying. It was a lot to take in all at once and it wasn't a happy story with a fluffy ending. Neither was hers. She ignored it most of the time, but as he talked about battles and deaths and dying, she found herself clutching at his shirt, practically clinging to him, images flashing through her mind. Answering the door at the penthouse in Vegas only to be mauled to death by a vampire; waking up in Lawrence, lost and confused, covered in blood, but the wounds healed into simple scars; the curse Maleficent had placed on her, turning her into one of them, only difference being she fed on energy instead blood; the day Peter, no, not Peter, the monster wearing Peter's body had caught her in the alley after Jerry had turned him. Tears had welled up before she had time to try and stop them.
Maybe she wasn't dealing so well, either. And how could she, when she didn't face things, only shoved them down and ignored them. Fake it until you make it was pracically her life motto with those sorts of things.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, taking half a step back, reaching up to wipe the tears away from her eyes.