Comfort
She's glad to always go home to her best man…
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Four men dead, no survivors, their murderer committing suicide by cop. Suicide by her.
She'd had to shoot him—there had been no other options—but that didn't stop her from running a bath that was too hot, sinking into it and contemplating sinking further. She blamed the water for the wet on her face. Hating her weakness.
"Mrrp," said a voice in her ear, followed by a wet nose. "Mrrrrow!"
"Demanding little shit," she growled, looking at her stupid cat. There were bubbles on his nose. She swallowed hard as he pressed his head against her cheek and purred loudly. As close to a you're strong enough to move past this as she was going to get. Fuck it. Sergio wasn't going to tell anyone about her crying. She buried her face in his silky fur and bawled as much as she needed to until she felt raw and clean and okay.
"Love you," she mumbled to the cat, and he sneezed in response.
