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When did I sit down?

“You’re okay, Sunshine, I got you.” His words are like a soft melody hitting me right in the chest.

“Carson?” I whisper. He squeezes our hands, using his other hand to stroke my cheek. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

“Is it all gone?”

“The blood? Yeah, it’s all gone, I promise.”

I hum, opening my eyes, wincing at the bright sunlight that shines on my face. I blink several times until I’m met with the familiar brown-blue eyes that I have come to admire.

“Hi neighbor, long time no see.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Carson asks me again for the third time in ten minutes. I cock my head at his antics, giving him the same answer I’ve given him the last two times he asked. “Yes.” His brows are furrowed as if he doesn’t believe me.

“I promise.” A fellow firefighter calls him over. Carson looks back at me with pursed lips. “Go,” I wave. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be back,” he promises. I stand up from the pavement, stretching my legs, brushing the mud from my clothes.

They had brought the critically injured man to the hospital. He was still unconscious when they loaded him into the ambulance. But he was breathing, they were saying words I had never heard before but I know he’s in great hands.

I walk around, my legs stiff from sitting too long. It’s been over an hour since the ambulance drove away.

Carson had yelled at Killian, demanding a bottle of water. The blonde man had raised an eyebrow, clearly not used to his best friend demanding things from him.

Carson used so much strength to open the bottle that he scrunched it up. He only relaxed when I opened it and drank it all.

It had been a while since I had such a bad reaction to seeing blood. The first few years I had panic attacks occasionally, but as time passed they lessened. Witnessing the accident caused it to happen again, not knowing if the man was going to be okay, and my blood-stained hands were too much to handle.

This is the first panic attack where I wasn’t alone, but I was glad Carson was there. He comforted me, just like I comforted him yesterday. He calmed me down without making a big fuss about it.

I’m here with just the firefighters. They’re done packing up and are waiting for one more thing. Or better said. One person. Carson. The man who won’t leave my sight for even a minute without asking if I’m okay.

Carson nears me, a small piece of paper crumbled in his hand.

“I have to go,” he says.

“I figured, you have more lives to save.”

He chuckles, handing me the note. “I want you to text me when you get home, so I know you got there safely.”

“I will.”

“Promise me,” he demands softly.

“I promise, I will text you the moment I get home.”

“Good.”

His coworkers call him over, telling him to hurry up. “You need to go.”

He sighs, mumbling something under his breath which sounds suspiciously a lot like: “impatient fuckers”.

“I’ll be fine,” I promise him. Again. He blows out a breath, walking backward to the truck. Keeping his eyes on me the whole time. He holds up his middle fingers to his co-worker who was staring at us.

“Hey Carson!”

He meets my eyes over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in question. “Thank you.”