He wasn't angry with her anymore, he understood why she had left his house without telling him. She hadn’t really had a lot of options. And he had never really been angry with her anyway, it had just been a coping mechanism. Although he should have had more faith in her. He was so in awe of her strength and determination. She had managed to get herself free and kill her stepfather before they got to her, his girl didn’t need anyone to save her.
She was so amazing.
He hated that she didn’t see it.
She had a lot she needed to learn about herself.
He had a lot to learn about himself too.
He had never thought of himself as the kind of guy who would be good at relationships. He was too hard, emotionally closed off, and bad at communication. But Naomi made him want to be the kind of guy she deserved.
She had to wake up.
Shehadto.
They had their whole futures ahead of them, and he wanted it all. He wanted to marry Naomi, he wanted to have kids with her, he wanted to grow old with her by his side.
But they couldn’t have any of that if Naomi didn’t open her eyes and wake up.
Leaning his elbows on the bed, he took her face in his hands. “Come on, Naomi. Wake up. Please,” he begged.
February 4th
5:45 P.M.
Slowly, so very slowly, she swam out of the dark place she had been trapped in back toward the light.
Naomi felt odd, sort of spaced out, not quite aware of where she was or what was going on around her, but she was finally aware of herself again.
The one thing she knew for certain was that she hurt.
A lot.
Her whole body ached but the pain centered in her chest.
Memories began to trickle back into her mind.
Gene had forced her to give herself up to him to save her sister. She didn’t even know if Ruth was still alive. Then he’d taken her to the hotel where she spent weekends with her father when she was a kid. He had tortured her, but she’d escaped. Then he had shot her. But she had killed him, right?
She had to know.
The desire to get answers to her questions was enough to spur her into cracking her eyes open.
She found herself lying in a hospital bed. She was hooked up to machines, a tube looped across her face helping deliver oxygen to her damaged lungs, and one of her hands was heavily bandaged.
Sam was sitting beside her.
She’d known he was there. She had been able to sense his presence even while she was stuck in the dark place.
He looked terrible. Haggard and older as though he had aged dramatically since she had last seen him. He looked like a complete and utter mess.
His clothes were rumpled, his face covered in thick dark stubble, it looked like he hadn’t shaved in days. How long had she been here?
He was asleep, his head tipped back to rest on the back of his chair, and his hand loosely held one of hers.
Naomi opened her mouth and tried to say his name, but her throat burned, and she couldn’t produce a single sound. Instead, she lightly squeezed Sam’s fingers.
Immediately he snapped awake. Sleepy disorientation filled his eyes for a split second but then they settled on her. Fear and anxiety flared and then he relaxed, and stress seemed to wash off him in that moment.