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.

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