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Then he gets heavier.
I grow weaker.
No.
Choked. Frantically, I search him for a sign of life, of noise, breath, pulse, nothing. Blood. Mouth open. Eyes shut.Oh God.It’s too late.
No, it’s not!
No, it’s not!
The crimson river from his skull coats my jeans, a messy blanket for us both to share as I shake with sobs.
“Baby, Baby, Xander!Please,help me.”I don’t know what to do, Baby. Please wake up and tell me what to do.“Help us!” I cry out to no one. To everyone.
Help!
No one is helping…
“Get up,” I say weakly to him. “I need to tell you that I love you. I forgot to tell you. I forgot to say it. You have to hear it before…God, please, you should hear it before…”
‘Stay with me. Be the one to stay.’
My throat fills with tears, my eyes leaking them in long streams that mingle with the blood all over us. I can’t see anymore. Pools of despair overwhelm my sight, so I just cling to him. To my messy lover. To our messy love. “I’m staying, Hothead. I’m staying.”
Three of Clay’s men circle us, but they don’t pull him from me this time. People aren’t chatting in coffee shops anymore, cars idle on the concrete, and I rock my bleeding lover in my lap for all to see.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR
kaya
How much blooddo we have?
I remember it’s a lot.
But I was busy that day in anatomy.
I got new highlights—in caramel.
I couldn’t stop looking at them.
The van moves slowly. My brain is submerged, senses sluggish as the ambulance navigates the best route to the hospital. It’s really, really slow…
Quiet, too.
I thought it would be louder.
My heart isn’t loud anymore.
It’s a drone now—white noise.
In the movies, the ambulance always speeds through the streets, and cars honk and fly out of the way in chaotic formations. In the back of the wagon, the staff are rushed, emotions high, as they try to keep the patient alive.
It's not like that today.
Why aren’t we speeding?
What do I do now?
