Simon had one habit that was not so much noticeable outwardly to others as it was ruining him from the inside out. Overthinking. He was damn good at it, and if it hadn't been for his desire to join the army after graduating from high school, he would have become a damn good writer. Even Stephen King himself did not see such plot twists.

It was easy for him to deal with it alone, every time just staring at the ceiling of his bedroom or running around the neighborhood at two in the morning to clear his mind. But when she started living in his house, everything changed.

And, of course, she immediately began to understand what was going on. Years of living at was areas, the constant evidence of deaths, injuries and torture affected Simon in the most terrible way. He blamed himself for his helplessness.

I didn't save ma closest brothers, so how can I protect 'er?

She noticed how he wasn't paying any attention to the movie on the TV screen when they were sitting on the couch in the living room. His eyes were glassy, and he stared straight ahead.

"Babe?" She asked, getting his attention.

"What if they take ya at night?" He immediately said, turning his head towards her. "What if they take ya when I'm not around? I can't protect ya, I'm useless."

He started talking, pouring all his worries on her, right in her face. All of the most terrible assumptions, all the terrible words about himself. He didn't value himself, he didn't consider himself worthy to have someone precious around whom he couldn't protect.

"I'm useless, luv..."