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“Yes, ma’am. We’ve already called it in. An ambulance is on the way.”
An ambulance. In New York traffic. Please, I beg silently. Please save him.
Please save the man I love.
…
I’m drenched in Ronan’s blood by the time the ambulance comes.
Paramedics enter with a stretcher. They say words, hook Ronan up to machines, but it’s all a garbled mess in my brain.
“I need to ride with him,” I finally say.
I’m surprised they allow it. I’m not family, but perhaps they think I am.
Let them think that.
Somehow we get to Mount Sinai, and Ronan is still alive, thank God.
Doctors meet the ambulance, dressed in scrubs.
“Male, thirties, gunshot wound to the shoulder and the abdomen. BP ninety over forty. Pulse weak.”
I run with them as they enter the hospital, Ronan on a stretcher. My heart has been racing this whole time, but I don’t care. I don’t care if it pops right out of my chest. All I care about is Ronan.
“I love you, Ronan,” I finally say. “Please. Be strong. Get through this.”
He came for me.
He came to the coffee shop to find me.
He can’t die for me.
“Ma’am, you can’t come any farther,” a doctor says. “Have a seat in the waiting area. You’re going to need to fill out his paperwork.”
Paperwork.
I don’t know anything about him, other than his name. I’m not even sure how old he is. All I know is that I love him.
I can’t lose him.
I’ll be whatever kind of submissive he needs, if only he’ll live.
People are staring at me, at my blood-soaked clothes.
I should be at work now. I remove my white—now red—cardigan, and underneath I’m wearing the orange and black corset.
More stares, but I don’t care.
Everyone in this waiting room is waiting for someone, but I’m betting I’m the only one waiting for someone who’s been shot twice.
My God, so much blood on me.
So much blood on me that’s supposed to be inside of Ronan, keeping him alive.
But we’re at the hospital now. They have blood here. Blood banks. I don’t even know what his blood type is. I don’t even know…
“Ma’am?”
