Chapter 7 #2
“Um….um….” I can’t fucking think... When my brain can’t seem to conjure up the address, I scour the room again, noticing a stack of envelopes on the table that now have my wet footprints tainting them.
I reach back and snag a piece of mail, gripping it in my fist like it will somehow fix everything. “2592 Clay St. Apartment 4F.”
“Okay ma’am, we’re dispatching medical and police assistance now.
You said tried? Is he still breathing?” That question pulls me from my daze, and I look back down to him.
The air I suck in feels like hail, and it actually stings as I breathe.
I don’t immediately notice his chest moving, and that makes my mouth quiver.
My heart feels like it’s being thrown around my ribcage, and I can’t focus enough to tell.
“I don’t know…” My voice cracks as more tears run down my face, and I can’t help but sob as I try to tilt his head up more. He feels lifeless in my hands—practically dead weight. The dispatcher takes a deep breath, and her concerned sigh comes through the phone.
“Ma’am, remember to stay calm. What is your name?” she asks sweetly, like she’s asking a kid lost in a park.
“Ashia Hartley,” I mutter out. My last name flows freely and acts as my anchor.
“Okay, Ashia. I want you to put your ear next to his mouth and watch his chest. Tell me if you see or hear anything.” I nod, even though she can’t see me, and shakily do as she says.
I almost bang my head into his face with how freaked out I am.
After a couple of seconds, I hear the faint sounds of his breaths and the soft wisp of air brush against my cheek.
I watch as his chest barely rises and falls, but the tiny motion lifts the room.
“I do, a little. But it’s not much.”
A relieved breath is what I hear from her next, and even her tone seems to brighten some.
“That’s okay. I'll let the paramedics know. They should be there soon. You're doing great, just stay as calm as you can. I'll stay on the phone with you until help arrives. Is he conscious?”
I shake my head, once again feeling stupid because she can’t see me moving.
“No.”
“Okay. Do not move him, okay? The paramedics will need to assess him for injuries when they arrive.” Only about a moment after she speaks do I hear sirens coming from outside, and I'm instantly hit with a wave of liberation. A warmth finally sprinkles across my skin, soothing some of the cold I’ve felt for the past… I’m not sure how many minutes.
It’s not long before paramedics storm in, and while I know in my brain that I should move, I just can’t let go of him. My hand remains plastered to his face, like if I let go, he’ll never feel warm again.
One of the EMTs, a nice-looking man with the same furry mustache as every other first responder, comes up behind me and grasps my elbows.
He says something so softly that I can’t hear him, but then he helps me up and moves me over to the couch so the others can work on Zeke.
The paramedic that helped me then kneels down in front of me, quickly looking me over like I’m the one that’s hurt.
I just want to yell and tell him that I'm obviously not the one that needs attention, but the words just bubble up in my throat.
His gaze rakes all over me, like something for him to do is hidden in a crease somewhere, when he locks in on my legs.
I look to where he is and notice the glass poking out of my bare knees, along with the sticky liquid I now easily recognize as blood covering the same area.
“Ma’am? Is there someone we can call for you?” he asks as he starts to dig in his medical bag, but his tone remains docile.
I snap my eyes back up to him, and suddenly feel tired, like all of the adrenaline is starting to dissipate, and there’s nothing left but exhaustion.
A squeal pulls my attention, and I watch as they load Zeke onto the stretcher with one of those bags over his mouth.
Instinctively, I hug myself again, questioning everything that’s happened.
Did I get here in time? Did I do it right?
Is there something else I should’ve done?
My lower arm wraps around my stomach, and a different dread sets in.
One that only Damien can fix. I crave his arms around me, holding me so tightly that the feeling is forever imprinted on my skin, and I desire his whispered words that somehow fix everything.
My mouth opens, but no words come out immediately, not knowing what to say other than…
“I want my husband…”
I'm sitting in the plastic chair beside Zeke’s hospital bed, staring at him like if I were to peel my eyes away for even a moment, he’ll wake up and try again.
The doctors said he was ‘very lucky,’ and that he shouldn’t have any lasting damage.
Those words nearly made me puke. He’s been unconscious for a while, and that gave them the chance to check his brain activity right before they did an x-ray to examine his neck.
They wanted to make sure he didn’t break or fracture anything when he… fell.
He should be waking up soon, and I know he’s not going to be happy when he does.
They restrained his wrists with those fluffy hospital cuffs that are attached to the bed, and the sight alone breaks my heart.
They’re treating him like he’s not capable of making decisions for himself. It’s clear he isn’t right now.
When our eyes connected, something passed between us.
A bolt of different emotions struck at once, and now that I have a moment to shuffle through them, it’s even more disturbing than before.
The look keeps flashing across my mind, and just reimagining the sorrow rips my heart in two.
There was so much fear in his eyes, accompanied by the despair and regret that was tangled within.
I can’t stop thinking about what I could’ve done to stop him.
A part of me knew that letting him go home was the wrong choice, and while I’m not his keeper, I desperately wanted him to stay where we could watch him.
We even offered to have him stay with us, but he refused, and I’m assuming this is why.
I fucking hate this… I feel so helpless.
As the new white bandages on my knees poke out in the corners of my vision, I think of that, too.
There was alcohol all over the floor, and the doctor said his blood alcohol level extremely elevated—almost to the point of becoming paralytic.
Maybe the alcohol influenced his decision?
Or perhaps, the scariest thought of all, was that he was thinking about doing this the whole time but needed the liquid courage to actually do it.
That darkness is such a terrifying place. I know it all too well.
I’ve stared it in the eyes and challenged it to take me.
I’ve heard its whispers in my ear and the way it morphs from a soft suggestion to a roaring demand.
This entity sees sadness as an opening and takes the opportunity to slip past every defense the mind has until it takes control.
It’s baleful and callous, personifying itself as a monster under the bed, or the one that lies dormant in dreams. It’s a void that claws and creeps along the center of the body until it finally reaches the heart and explodes.
This demon is a despair like no other—one that consumes its victim like a disease.
It festers and lingers, never fully going away. And the worst symptom of it all?
Amnesia.
It’s not normally talked about, but that’s just one of the characteristics the darkness uses to manipulate its victims. It hyper focuses the mind on one solid thought, and the rest are cast out.
In that moment of complete misery, the target doesn’t think of what it would leave behind, or the souls they would steal with it.
I was also a target once, and unfortunately, I’m not sure the mark ever fully disappears.
In what I thought was going to be my last moments, I was able to pull the only weapons I truly had, and thankfully, deter the monster for a while longer.
I beat the amnesia and thought of Serena, Richard, Marla, and Emmett.
It was enough to force the darkness away, leaving me to live this life with nothing but its echoes in my head.
However, there’s a lot of victims that aren’t as fortunate as I am.
That demonic, malevolent monster takes thousands of souls a year, and today, it tried to take my brother.
That thought makes my stomach turn. My brother.
The man that just wanted a connection with me, but I made that hard at every turn.
It’s not that I don’t want that bond, or that he’s done anything to force it one way or another.
It was just hard for me to accept. He looks so similar to our father, and unfortunately that brought up some resentment and anger.
Feelings that he didn’t deserve.
I should’ve just sucked it up. I should’ve hugged him like I wanted to, wrapped my arms around his neck instead of letting him push himself towards a rope, and promised to never let him go.
Demanding things has never been a strong suit of mine, but I should’ve done that, too.
Things like him staying with us, eating, sleeping, staying away from alcohol.
I should’ve done more. There are so many things that I would change now if I could, but I can’t, and that’s something I’ll have to live with.
Just like he’ll have to live with this moment for the rest of his life.
That epiphany causes my heart to break a little more, and I just want to crawl into the bed beside him, hoping that any comfort I could offer would find him.
This attempt will forever be a scar on his soul, even though the bruises around his neck will heal.
He will come back from this, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he does, but just knowing that this will forever haunt him has my heart weeping.