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It should’ve been the first thing I did.
Wake up.
This is just a dream.
WAKE UP!
Exhaling heavily, the guy dropped his hand. “He’s still alive.”
Pain slashed through me.
Agonising relief.
Blistering guilt.
My dead heart woke up, kicking with renewed hope and lifeforce. “Help me take him home. Drive us.”
His mouth fell open. “Did you not hear me? He needs to go to the hospital. This is my fault. I’m not letting him go anywhere unless it’s to get medical help. If there’s the smallest chance he won’t die, then I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure he survives.” Fresh tears fell. “I can’t go to jail for this. I can’t.”
I felt nothing for him.
Just loathing.
Blocking him out, I curled up beside Aslan on a bed made of glass with blankets made of night. I wrapped my arm around his cooling chest and pressed my face to his neck. His pulse fluttered faintly against my lips, granting an avalanche of love.
He’s alive.
He’s not gone.
He’s alive!
Dread followed that wonderful knowledge, and I sat up again with renewed determination.
All the nudges of my youth. All those knowings I’d listened to when I was younger stabbed me, blade after blade.
He can’t go to the hospital.
He’s alive.
He’s mine.
But if he goes, they’ll know.
They’ll find out who he is.
They’ll take him—
Hysteria chose that moment to infect me, and I did something that seemed so understandable in my smoggy head but most likely looked deranged.
I slapped him.
I slapped him right on the cheek and hissed, “Wake up right now, Aslan Avci. If you don’t, you won’t wake up at all, do you hear me? They’re coming. They’re coming for you, and I won’t be able to stop them if you don’t wake the hell up!”
“Shit, stop that!” The driver launched himself at me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing hitting him?”
“Let go of me!”
“No way. Just sit still until help arrives.” He looked at Aslan with such remorse. “Hey, Aslan, is it? Mr. Avci. Please, man. Hold on. Help’s coming.”
