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“Y-yeah,” I stammer, swallowing hard. “I’m here, Ciarán. Whatever you need.”
“Good,” he replies, a brief flicker of relief crossing his blood-streaked face. He grips my hand tightly as the paramedics get to work on Cathal’s unconscious form.
Inside, my doubts continue to gnaw away at me, feeding off my fear and insecurity, along with the mess of emotions I’m trying desperately to shove away.
My parents.
They died in a car explosion.
I was there.
I saw it.
They died, and I was sent to Aunt Margaret.
Aunt Margaret, who told me they died in a carcrash.
It wasn’t a crash. The car exploded. I can see it clearly in my mind’s eye now that I’ve unearthed the hideous sight of it.
How?
Why?
Who wanted them dead?
Turning from Ciarán, I lean over and throw up on the ground, overcome with so much past trauma mingled with the current one, I can’t separate the two now. It’s a fucked up swirl of vomit-inducing pain that is about to swallow me whole.
Ciarán’s grip on my hand loosens as he pulls away and grabs my hair to hold back for me. It’s the sweetest thing he could’ve done.
As if he senses my inner turmoil, and maybe he can – there’s always been an almost eerie connection between us, a bond that goes beyond the physical, he strokes my back and helps me upright when I’ve finished.
“Go back to the apartment, Tinks. I’ve got this.”
I shake my head, unable to find my voice amidst the maelstrom of emotions about to break me. Instead, I focus on what I can see – the way the paramedics work tirelessly over Cathal, their faces grim but determined.
“Do you need medical assistance?” another paramedic asks, coming over quickly.
“No, we’re fine. Just save my brother,” Ciarán grits out, even though the cut on his head is still bleeding.
“Sir, you’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine; savehim.”
“We’re doing everything we can.”
He nods, gulping back his emotions.
“We’ve stabilized him, but we need to get him to the hospital.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“We,” I stammer. “I’m coming.”
Ciarán ignores me as we watch in silent agony as the paramedics load Cathal onto a stretcher, their movements careful and deliberate. The sight of him so pale and lifeless sends a fresh wave of nausea roiling through me, but I force myself to keep watching, needing to bear witness to his fight for survival.
“Stay strong, brother,” Ciarán murmurs.
As the ambulance doors slam shut and it speeds away, sirens wailing, I cling to Ciarán, desperate for the reassurance he offers. Together, we stand amidst the chaos, our faces etched with worry and uncertainty, clinging to each other as if our lives depend on it.
