She was still crying. He was too tired to tell her to shut up, certainly too tired to make her. Those things were still beating and scratching at the door above them, and dust fell through thin and intermittent beams of light. Maybe eventually they’d give up, move on.
He chided her angrily, “You should be thanking me. You’d be dead now if it weren’t for me. I saved you. You hear? I saved you from them.”
She sniveled. She wiped her eyes as best she could with her wrists still cuffed to the drainage pipe.
“I’m not the monster.”