"Not going." He dropped onto the sofa, rejecting her instantly.
Several bags of trash were piled by the door. She didn't need to ask to know he hadn't left in days.
"If you stay cooped up like this, you're going to get sick."
"Then let me die. Better to rot here than go out and have people stare at me like I'm a monster."
His self-loathing sparked a flare of anger in her chest.
But then her gaze landed on the hideous burn scars creeping up his neck and arms.
The anger dissolved into heartache.
The scars weren't just on his skin. They had ravaged his soul.
Ever since his discharge from the hospital, he was a different person. Volatile temper. Complete withdrawal from the world. If this continued, Sara feared his mind would break entirely.
She sat beside him, her voice softening. "If you die, wouldn't my sacrifice be for nothing?"
Simon glanced at her and scoffed. "Who asked you to save me?"
"Right, I was meddling." Her tone dripped with reverse psychology. "I shouldn't have made a deal with the devil to pay your medical bills. I should have just bought a bottle of cheap poison—economical and practical—and set us both free."