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“Christian!” I yell as something snaps inside of me. I push from the doorway and stumble onto my knees, turning my best friend to his back.
“Don’t you dare do this to me, man,” I yell, shaking him violently, but his body is limp in my arms.
Panic clogs my throat, making it hard to breathe. Tears burn my eyelids, my gaze is blurry. I can hear soft whispers in the background, but I ignore them, all my attention focused on one person and one person only.
I’ve only seen CPR done once in a TV show, but I try it anyway. Placing my palms against his chest, I start to press against his heart.
“Fucking hell, Christian.”
He’s gone. I know he’s gone. His lips are purple, his skin ashen, white foam coming from the corner of his mouth.
How long has he been like that? Minutes? Hours? Did he try to call for help, but I was too lost in my own world to hear him?
Letting out a frustrated roar, I lift my hand to slap him, but a hand grabs mine before my palm can connect with skin. My best friend’s eyes turn to me. They’re bloodshot, his pupils dilated as he stares at me, anger burning brightly in his gaze as he glares at me.
“It’s all your fault.”
I suck in a sharp breath as my body jerks upright. Or it would if there wasn’t something holding onto me. No, not something.Somebody.
I start to struggle, thinking I’m still stuck in my nightmare. The panic takes hold of me, my throat constricting and making it impossible to breathe.
“Shh… It’s me. I’ve gotcha.”
It takes me a moment to register the sound of her voice.
Penelope.
It’s Penelope.
My body relaxes slightly as her arms wrap tighter around me. I pull her into my lap, placing my head against her chest. I can barely hear the sound of her heartbeat from the blood rushing in my ears, but I try to focus on the fast rhythm of her heart beating against her ribcage.
Thump-thump-thump.
Breathe in.
Thump-thump-thump.
Breathe out.
I repeat the process a few times as she runs her fingers through my hair, her gentle touch making chills run down my skin. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
I squeeze her tighter, burying my head in the crook of her neck, and inhale her sweet rose scent.
Birdy.
Not the cold, lifeless body in my hands, but a warm woman.
My Birdy.
“I’m here,” she whispers softly, making me realize I’ve said the words out loud.
This is real.
Sheis real.
Not the nightmare.
Her.
