She takes a step backwards, ducking her head down from his hand settling on the back of her skull, her eyes wide. Shot you, he says, and touches her hair like he's expecting to find a hole. Shot you in the head, is what he means. Shot you like a walker.

Killed you, is what he means.

"No." Her voice has an edge to it. She feels slightly hoarse, the words more of a whisper than she means for them to be. "I was going to stab her. She wasn't--"

She wasn't going to kill me, is waiting in her throat, because I was going to kill her first. It lodges there like a swallowed bone as she stares at him. Her chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself. Bitch shot you.