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I lay her on the rug.
“What did he do to you?” I mumble as my hands go to her breastbone, performing CPR. I blow life into her while listening for the tiniest clue that can tell me she’s still alive.
A few seconds later, she gasps. Her eyes flutter open, but she’s still struggling. I give her another lungful of air, helping her to get over the line so she can breathe by herself.
She chokes, followed by a few short breaths. She squeezes my hand as if trying to tell me that she’s back
I huff a sigh of relief.
But then her body twitches, and she gags. I immediately turn her sideway. Water and saliva spill out of her mouth. There’s a whiff of chemical in it. Looking at her bruise, I can only speculate that she’s been drugged.
I move her to my bed and cover her.
“Sweetheart, what’s your name? I’m going to call a doctor now, okay?”
She looks at me, dazed, but she shakes her head, snatching my hand when I’m about to reach for the phone.
I sit next to her. “I know you’re scared, but you need a doctor. You may have been poisoned.”
She keeps shaking her head.
“I won’t leave you alone, I promise.”
Slowly she releases her grip on me.
After two attempts, a man from guest services answers my call, and he tells me a doctor will come within the hour.
“How are you feeling?” I dab a wet towel on her lips, cleaning traces of her vomit. She touches her mouth as if trying to recall what has just happened. I can still taste her on my lips, and I hope she does mine—because as much as I kept her alive in that moment, I felt that life had just given me another chance.
The aftermath of my CPR must be hurting her that she’s rubbing her chest now. As she lowers the cover, I realize I’ve ripped part of her gown. The neckline is already low, and its material is thin. With that rip, half of her chest is exposed.
“I’m sorry, I had to.”
She looks around, and without warning, she gets up too fast. I fail to stop her.
“No, no, don’t get up so soon.” As I predicted, she loses her balance. I catch her mid-fall and then guide her back to bed. “Sit down.”
I throw a blanket over her shoulders as she sits stiffly at the edge of the bed. Her fingers shake when I offer her a drink. She can’t even hold the glass.
“What’s… this?” she quavers
“It’s just water. You need it.” I hang on to the glass while she tries to grip it. “Let me,” I murmur. She’s too weak, so I take the glass up to her mouth, placing the brim in between her lips.
She only takes a sip.
“Drink some more,” I encourage her.
She does, and after a couple of gulps, she moves her mouth away from the glass.
“What’s your name?”
Her lips release a couple of last quavers, but she’s not giving an answer.
“He did this to you?” I point at her neck. “And he drugged you?”
Her head falls limply, escaping my scrutiny.
“You don’t have to go back to him. I’ll help you.”
