Page 47 of Hush, Little Baby

I shake my head.

Constantine lets out a small sigh of relief. “Okay. Did the guards hurt you?”

I swallow, then give him a shallow nod. Nikolaus curses in the background.

“I’m sorry, Charlie. They weren’t meant to hurt you,” Constantine says.

I stare at him because I don’t understand what he means by that.

My fingers tighten around the robe, which keeps wanting to fall open no matter how hard I clutch it closed. My hoodie is twisted around one shoulder, the sleeves bunched wrong, the hem riding up over the thick belt of the robe. I feel ridiculous and exposed and humiliated in a way that makes my skin crawl, like even with the robe closed again, they’ve already seen too much.

Nikolaus makes another rough sound behind Constantine, and though I know it’s not at me, it still leaves me confused.

“I tried to leave,” I whisper, staring at the floor and fidgeting until the quiet is broken and my eyes flick up.

“We know,” Constantine answers, now looking slightly confused himself.

I look cautiously between him and Nikolaus, waiting for the part where they stop acting like this is about me being hurt and start being angry because I did something wrong. Because I did. I know I did. I was the one who snuck out of bed. I was the one who opened the door.

“I tried to run away,” I clarify, in case they both missed that very important detail during all the yelling and gun-pointing and almost-murder.

Nikolaus’s face tightens, and I flinch back, thinking I just reminded him that he should be angry at me.

But then he comes closer and crouches in front of me, slow enough that I can see the movement coming, one knee settling against the floor. “We know, baby.”

My throat works. “Then why are you sorry?”

His expression does something I can’t read.

“Niko…” Constantine murmurs, but Nikolaus ignores him.

“I knew there was a chance you would try,” Nikolaus says. “That is why the guards were there. They were supposed to stop you from leaving, walk you back into the suite, and alert me.”

“But I was leaving,” I say again, smaller this time.

“Yes.”

“So they stopped me.”

“Yes.”

“Then…” I lift my eyes, baffled and exhausted and so close to crying again that my vision is already shimmering. “Then why does everyone keep sounding like I’m the one who needs an apology?”

Nikolaus goes very still. Constantine’s expression softens around the edges, and I hate that too. I hate how hard it is to hate him when he looks at me like that, with his shirt rumpled and his hair messy and his face too tired to be cruel.

“Because you are,” Constantine says.

I shake my head vehemently. “No, I’m not.”

“Charlie—”

“No. No, I’m not. I tried to leave. I wasn’t supposed to. I know that.” My voice starts shaking. My whole body is shaking, actually, the adrenaline leaving me in miserable little waves. “I messed up. I screamed and fought them, and I—I made Nikolaus almost—” My gaze snaps unwillingly toward the place where the gun had been, and I can’t finish the sentence. “I made everything worse.”

I feel tired, so horribly tired, like all my bones have been scooped out and replaced with wet paper.

“Sweetheart, you’re not listening,” Nikolaus says gently but firmly. “I expected you to try to leave. It would’ve been stupid of me not to. It was my responsibility to keep you safe, and I failed. The only people who messed up are those two men and me. I should’ve done more to ensure they wouldn’t hurt you, and you deserve my apologies for that.”

“So you’re not mad?” I whisper.