I chewed on my thumbnail as I read through my life from the outside. Jared played with my hair; otherwise he sat motionless and silent. Half way through one of his more lengthy entries, I realized it was written the night he’d taken a bullet for me.

…Claire extracted the bullet. I’ve been angry, but this time I was furious. I saw that bastard aim at her and I wanted to tear his head from his neck. I couldn’t end his life fast enough. That’s one less of Donovan’s men that will go after her, but it doesn’t make me feel better. I can’t figure it out. I yelled at Claire to finish so I could go back to Nina. I couldn’t even explain to Claire what I was so mad about, because I don’t know myself. The need to get back to her was ridiculous, because I knew that Dad was with her. She’d gone home by then, but I had to be near her and I was angry that I felt that way.

It’s like I’ve been addicted to her, but I didn’t know it until tonight. As if I didn’t already have to be near her to protect her, now I just need to be near her. It’s infuriating.

So now I’m here, watching her talk to Cynthia. I still don’t know what my problem is. For the first time, I was afraid that I would fail. And not just fail—that I would fail HER. Claire accuses me of being a perfectionist, maybe that’s what it is. Or maybe I just didn’t want to let her down. But why the hell should I care? She wouldn’t know either way. I don’t want her to die, but that should be obvious, right? She dies, I die.