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The stalker–who must now see Ezra from his vantage point–ducks to the other side of the alley and into my sight, so I raise my gun. My heart jumps to my throat as he raises his at the same time. If this is how it has to go, then so be it. My finger presses the trigger as I stare at the shadowed figure dressed in all black, my only thought is of the relief Wicked will find in knowing he’s dead.
Even if I am too.
Milliseconds before my gun can fire, a heavy weight crashes into me, knocking me off my feet as a shot fills the air. I barely have time to process Wicked’s small frame where I was just standing as she jerks forcefully in the other direction, wetness splattering me across the face as I fall to the ground.
“No!” The scream that leaves my throat is inhuman, animalistic as I watch her fall to her back, her long brown hair billowing out around her like a halo before my vision is blurred.
This can’t be happening. It can’t be.
I wipe at my eyes, blinking rapidly to clear my sight, only to see the crimson red smears covering my shaking hands.
Time stops.
My heart freezes.
Everything ceases to exist as my chest cavity crumples inwards and detonates. My own body turns mutinous, agonizing pain stretching through every inch of my form as it claws at me from the inside out, drawing blood–wreaking destruction. I see her unmoving form laid out on the ground like an offering to God. The air around me compresses, constricting me, holding me captive even as I try to reach towards her.
“Izabella!” The shout is warped, slow, and barely able to be deciphered. But it snaps something within me.
Time moves once more, this time so rapidly, I’m barely able to follow it. I’m rushing forward, my hands reaching to cup her face. So gently, I barely feel her warm skin beneath my fingertips, I turn her face enough to see the blood pouring from the other side, covering any evidence of where it’s coming from.
“No, mi vida. No.” I mumble the words as I strip out of my jacket and shirt, using the latter to press to her head and stem the bleeding. “¡No es tu momento! ¡Dios no te llega a llevar! ¡Todavía te necesito! Todavía te necesito. Todavía te necesito.”
“Officer down! I repeat, officer down!” Ezra’s panicked voice reaches me as I press my shirt tightly to Wicked’s head, my gaze not moving from her face. The splattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose are stark against the ghostly pale complexion from the blood loss, and my heart shatters inside of me. Over and over it breaks, each shard created splintering off to impale me, carving me from the inside out.
I can do nothing as I hold her tightly, waiting for help, watching her life trickle away. I am powerless. I have no control. I can’t save her.
Every second that passes I die just a little more alongside her. Every word I’ve ever spoken to her, every moment and passionate second resonate in my mind. So many regrets. So many things still left unsaid.
Our time together plays on a loop. Her smirks. Her sass. Her fire.
I watch it fade away to embers as surely as my soul seems to leak from its confines.
“Aún no has terminado aquí. No puedes dejarnos.” The words drip from my mouth, flowing to her, trying to wrap her in their embrace and hold her here with me. Warmth trails down my face as I press my lips to her forehead in a gentle kiss. “Te amo, mi vida. Te amo.Por favor no me quites mi amor.Lo siento.¡Lo siento!”
“English,puta.” I freeze as the voice reaches me, my body vibrating and swelling, a wave of vertigo almost sending me into darkness.
“Izabella?” Her name leaves my lips on a shaky whisper.
“Holy fuck my head hurts.” She groans, her hand weakly moving to grab at the side of her head where I’m still holding my now sodden shirt.
“¡Mi vida!” I practically sob the words as my body sags over her form. My lungs fill with oxygen, blood fills my veins, and life leaps into my soul all at once. Words fail me as I cradle her to my chest, rocking her back and forth, unable to give voice to the flood of emotion that washes over me.
“Jesus, Nic! Calm down!” Wicked’s beautiful voice is laced in irritation and it only forces another wave of relief to crash into me. “What the fuck happened?”
“You were shot. You were-” I choke on another sob. “I thought we lost you.”
“Oh.” Her nose crinkles before she groans in pain again. “I guess that explains the headache.”
“The headache.” I repeat dumbly before a maniacal laugh leaves my throat. I don’t even know why I do, but I can’t seem to stop. I laugh and laugh until they turn to cries. Unable to hold back the torrent of bullshit rushing through my system.
“Hey. Hey. It’s okay. I’m okay.” She finally manages to find my face with her hands, her small fingers delicately wiping at the tears on my cheeks.
“What the fuck were you thinking, Izabella? Why?” I try to summon anger at her for doing what she did, putting herself in danger like that, but I can’t seem to find any.
“I…” She trails off for a moment, as if trying to remember what happened before she was hurt. “I had a feeling.”
I say nothing, waiting for her to elaborate.
