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“How does your arm feel?” Saff asked, and Maddie immediately recognized the raspy slur in her words. She smiled,remembering the last time she’d heard that exhaustion in her voice.
“Its fine,” she lied.
Saff hummed lazily, shifting beneath her, and Maddie smiled again as her arm moved, tightening around her torso.
“You tired?”
Saff’s shoulder shrugged beneath her.
“Did you sleep last night?”
“No.”
Maddie frowned, curling her body in closer to her. It wasn’t any use trying to convince her to do anything, she knew that. Besides, she knew Saff well enough to know that there was an easier way to get her to sleep anyway.
She reached upward, trailing her hand through her hair, letting her nails drag down her scalp and onto her neck.
“You should at least close your eyes,” Maddie lulled. “Wouldn’t hurt to rest for a little bit.”
“Can’t,” Saff murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Raiders could come back.”
Maddie tilted her head up and kissed her neck, a small smile tugging on her lips. “Don’t worry. If they do, I’ll save you.”
Saff didn’t reply, but Maddie could’ve sworn that her arm tightened around her just a fraction more.
She continued stroking her fingers through her hair until Saff’s breaths slowly deepened, and her arm loosened its tight grip as sleep overcame her.
But even after that, Maddie continued tracing her fingers across her skin, memorizing every curve and detail.
Chapter thirty-seven
Her father’s angry eyes, glazed with disappointment and disgust, glared up at her.
Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, following the curve of his thick cheekbones before dripping off his jaw onto his military green, sweat-soaked shirt.
“Do it!” he bellowed, fists curling with rage.
She flinched backward and instantly despised herself for it.
These were the last moments she’d ever be able to prove that she was better than him. That she wasn’t intimidated by him, no matter how loud he yelled. That no matter what he said, she was strong—stronger than him.
And yet, there she was, flinching away. Failing.
As if she was six years old again, and nothing had changed. Like she hadn’t grown and left. Like she’d never graduated medical school and started her internship.
Like she hadn’t started a life—a successful life.
He yelled. She flinched.
Failure.
Saff held the gun steady in her hand, silently praying for it not to shake.
“Do it,” he yelled, spit flying from his mouth.
He took two quick steps toward her, and with each step, he somehow grew larger. Impossibly large. And at the same time, she was shrinking down. Shrinking into a scared child.
Shrinking into nothing.
