Consumed by his own grief, his horrified gaze filled with the sigh of Lotte's gaping wounds, Josh didn't hear Rogue's accusations or her questions. He hadn't been able to save Lotte. No one could have but in his grief stricken mind, he was convinced he could have. If she'd just gotten here sooner. Logically that was stupid but he was hardly thinking straight.
His knees weak from exhaustion, his hands and clothes covered in Lotte's blood, Josh stared at his hands. Useless, pathetic, weak things. He should've gone with her to the club. He should've dropped her off like he'd promised. He should've... should've.... He should've been there but Lotte had died alone. Horribly, painfully and alone. Had she called for him? Did she blame him for not being there to save her? He'd promised to protect her and he hadn't.
He should've been there.
He should've been there.
Useless hands shaking, Josh reached over and brushed a lock of Lotte's blood caked hair away from her still face. Her expressions had always been so engaging and ever changing, one of the many things that he'd loved about her. All that was gone now.
Lotte was gone now.
His mind recoiled from that. He was vaguely aware of shaking his head, of the body wracking sobs, of reaching out and pulling Lotte's limp form into his arms. "No no no no no please no! Please no!" he sobbed, rocking.