URIAH
Ξ
I don’t why I do it, and I’m sure I’ll hate myself for the rest of the year for it, but I walk back to her, my hand reaching for her ankle.

 

I unbuckle the strap of her heel and pull it off her foot, and I hear her groan in relief as formerly constricted blood is allowed to move freely again in her limbs. I do the same for the other foot and am met with another sigh of relief.

 

I pull the comforter over her, and the plush mass of fabric practically engulfs her small body, leaving only her face visible. I place the lone trash can in the room right next to the head of the bed. She’ll definitely need it in the morning—or whenever she wakes up.

You need to login to view the rest of the content. Please . Not a Member? Join Us

Leave A Comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.