And she was okay with that.
It was time.
Time to let go, time to give into the cold, time to slip away and find her peace.
Chapter
Eight
January 23rd
1:41 A.M.
She was slipping away, and he didn't know how to stop it from happening.
Voodoo had never felt so inadequate in his life.
As a child, it had been a regular feeling, one he’d strived to overcome by being the best version of himself that could be. Which meant excelling at everything he did. Perfect grades, best player on the football team, the soccer team, the baseball team, volunteering at a local children’s hospice and playing with the dying kids, never ever getting in trouble for anything.
He'd quite literally been the perfect child. There were no calls from the principal about bad behavior, and even at home he did his chores, kept his room clean, and helped out without being asked. As a teen, he’d never done drugs, never drank, didn't even have sex until he finally left home to join the military because he didn't want to disappoint his parents by becoming a teen father.
But no matter how perfect he was, he was never good enough.
His parents never yelled at him. Apparently, they were too intelligent for that because only incompetent, uneducated parents screamed at their kids. They lectured. Long and hard, listing every single thing they found lacking in him and making it clear he was never going to live up to their expectations, and that they weren't going to waste time that could be better spent saving lives on a reject like him.
For so many years he’d wanted to prove them wrong.
It was the biggest reason he’d signed up for the experimental drug program to begin with. He’d thought it was the perfect way to show his parents that he could be a better person than they’d ever given him credit for.
A better person than them.
Every life he had saved, every injury he had healed in the last ten years was like vindication. Proof his parents were wrong about him.
Now, as he sat in a cave, watching the woman lying beside him inch closer to death with each breath she took, he felt like that failure they always claimed he was.
“Come on, Indy, keep fighting,” he urged as he swept his fingertips across her brow.
No longer was it hot to the touch, now she was cold. Too cold. Hypothermia was slowly claiming her the same way fever had been the night before.
The problem was, she was no longer fighting.
Instead, she’d given in to the suicidal thoughts that were a side effect of the drugs she’d been given. He knew what those thoughts were like, knew the power they held over you. In those early days, he’d almost given in to those urges countless times, and it was only because his team was always right there and he knew what his death would do to them that had him fighting as hard as he could.
But Indigo didn't think she had anything worth fighting for.
Didn't think she had any worth.
How could he convince her she was wrong when she didn't know him well enough to understand that he would give her a family, a place to belong, friends, people who cared, and anything else she needed to feel safe and accepted?
Trailing his fingers down her cold cheek, Voodoograsped her chin and tilted her face a little so it was angled toward his. “Indigo.” When she didn't respond, he lightly pinched her chin and was rewarded by a moan. “Wake up, Indy.”
Eyelashes fluttered against her pale cheeks, and while her eyes didn't open, at least he knew she had heard him.
“Why do you call me Indy?”
“Do you not like it?” If she wasn't a fan of the nickname, he’d come up with something else. It wasn't like he was attached to this one, it had just kind of slipped out, and since it felt right, he’d continued to use it.
“Like it,” she slurred, her voice far weaker than he liked. “Never had anyone give me a nickname before.”
