I don’t trust people easily. I never have. Maybe it’s because of what I’ve been through. Maybe it’s just how the world works. People make promises they don’t keep. They turn their backs when it matters most. They freeze or run when things get dangerous. I’ve seen it all happen. I’ve watched people I cared about disappear in the blink of an eye. After everything with that bus—the screaming, the blood, the things that still haunt my dreams—I learned that trust isn’t something I give away lightly. She has to earn it. And that’s on her.

So I keep my guard up. High. Tight. Like armor. I don’t let her in unless she proves she belongs. Not because I don’t want her around. Hell, I want someone I can count on. But I’ve learned the hard way that to protect what’s left of me—and the people I care about—I have to be careful. Because once that guard falls, it’s not just me who gets hurt. It’s everyone around me.

People say I’m angry all the time. Maybe they’re right. But it’s not just anger. It’s fear. Frustration. A burning need to hold onto what little stability I’ve got. I don’t talk about how much it still hurts—the scars underneath the surface, the memories that bleed into my sleep. But it’s always there. Raw. Constant. Like a weight on my chest. Some days, it feels like I’m carrying the whole damn world on my shoulders. Everything I couldn’t fix, everything I lost. Yeah, it’s heavy. But I’ve learned to live with it.

Ever since we got off that bus, I’ve been on edge—like I’m waiting for the next disaster to drop. Loud noises make me flinch. I keep my back to the wall. I count exits like my life depends on it—because it does. Hesitation? That’s a luxury I can’t afford. One wrong move, and someone could get hurt. Or worse. I don’t get second chances anymore. Not when so much is riding on every choice.

I notice things most people don’t. The way she shifts when she’s scared, the flicker in her eyes when she’s holding back something, the way a room feels off before anything bad happens. It’s like a sixth sense, sharpened by everything I’ve been through. I don’t let anyone sneak up behind me. I stay one step ahead—always. And if she’s with me, she better be ready to fight. Because I don’t just stand my ground—I hold it, no matter what.

But beneath this tough exterior, there’s something I don’t show often. If I decide she’s worth it—if I let her in—I’ll fight like hell for her. I’ll put myself between her and whatever’s coming, even if it breaks me. Loyalty isn’t just a word to me. It’s the core of who I am. I’m not perfect. I screw up more times than I’d admit. But I don’t walk away when it gets hard. I stay. I protect. I fight.

Don’t expect me to open up quickly. I’m not a project to be fixed or a story to be analyzed. I’m a guy who’s seen things no one should have to see—and I’m still standing. And that means something. It has to.

So yeah. Maybe I’m rough around the edges. Maybe I come off cold or distant. But if she’s real—if she’s here for the long haul—I promise this: I’ve got her back. No matter what.

Because when the world falls apart, when all hell breaks loose, the one thing I know for sure is that I’ll stand there. Front line. First to fight. Last man standing. And if she’s with me? Then she won’t stand alone.