Chapter 22 #4
His voice, calm, with a glint of humor, sounds oddly disconnected from this situation. By now my tears are pouring freely down my cheeks, and I groan, “Please, Logan, please. Damien is dying. Please come, please save him.”
His tone changes instantly. “Seraphina. Are you with him right now?” he asks urgently.
“Yes,” I groan. “We’re in the forest, somewhere in Vermont, I don’t know where exactly…”
“Don’t worry. I can track it. Are you in immediate danger?”
“No,” I blubber. “He’s dead. Gabriel’s dead. I killed him. But Damien was shot. He’s bleeding out. Please, Logan, I can’t live without him, I love him…”
“I know, Seraphina,” he says quietly. I hear the sound of a car engine being turned on and I let myself hope. He’s coming. Everything will be okay.
“It’s going to take me an hour to get there,” he says, and my hopes plummet at once. “Stay on the phone, Seraphina. Do you see Damien’s car from where you are?”
I tear myself away from Damien’s eyes, which are still full of deep love, and guilt, and danger. I scan the surroundings, and quickly spot the car, parked a little while away, nestled among the trees. Only the glint of metal that a distant moonbeam lights up betrays its presence.
I nod, then remember he can’t see me. “Yes.”
“Go to it. There’s a first aid kit in the trunk. You’re going to have to sew him up, if you want him to make it. But you can do that. I know you can. You’ve done it once before.”
I fumble through Damien’s jacket again, hunting for the keys. As soon as I find them, I hungrily kiss his hand, and he gives mine a light squeeze. Then I rush toward the car, my heart thumping. What if by the time I get back, he’s already dead?
I grab the kit and dart back to him, moving faster than I ever have before. He’s still breathing. Thank you, God, thank you. If you exist, I’ll spend the rest of my life worshipping at your feet. If you don’t, I’ll worship the Devil instead.
Damien’s eyes fix themselves on mine as I kneel down and open the kit.
“It’s not your typical first aid kit,” comments Logan dryly as I discover a number of spools of threads and sewing needles, as well as the usual gauze patches and disinfectant. “But then again, most people don’t have to worry about getting shot or stabbed on a regular basis.”
I take in deep breaths, willing myself to relax, willing my hands to stop shaking. I know that Logan’s attempt at humor is meant to calm me down. I can still feel the tinge of pain and anxiety in his voice. I know that his love for Damien is only second to mine.
“Go on,” Logan encourages me softly. “You can do it. Don’t bother with the disinfectant. We’ll have time later to disinfect. Right now, all that matters is stopping the bleeding.
I take one last deep breath then unbutton Damien’s shirt.
I barely take in his pale beauty, the way his muscles gleam in the soft moonlight.
My full attention is on the large, ugly gash in the middle of his stomach.
I tear my eyes away from it and look at the tiny needle that I’m somehow supposed to push into his skin. It feels impossible.
“Do it, Seraphina,” orders Logan.
I thread the needle with shaking hands as Damien smiles at me wordlessly. He tries once more to stroke my cheek, but his hand falls short. I grab it and hold it to me as with the other, I plunge the needle into his skin.
His eyes narrow in pain, but he merely smiles reassuringly. Even near death, he somehow manages to protect me.
Somehow, I find the strength to push the needle in again and again, threading it around his wound, sewing it shut. It’s far from perfect, but I feel hopeful when I see the bleeding slowing down. It only trickles out now through the uneven seams.
“Okay,” I breathe into the phone. “Okay, I did it.”
“You’re doing great,” soothes Logan. “He’s going to be alright, Seraphina. I promise you he’ll be alright. And it’ll be thanks to you.”
Swallowing my pain, I lie down beside Damien and let my head fall against that special nook between his throat and his shoulder.
I put his hand in my hair and wind his fingers through my strands, hunting for the way his stroking always made me feel.
I breathe in his scent, careful not to touch his injury.
Logan’s still talking to me, but I feel my mind drifting.
I’ve placed Damien’s other hand over my body and I cuddle up to him, trying to imagine that he’s holding me.
His hands are twitching as if he’s doing his best to respond to my touch, but after a while, I’m aware that he’s stopped moving.
I’m too scared, though, to check if he’s still breathing.
I close my eyes, allowing myself to give in to a hopeless dream.
The next thing I’m aware of is two strong hands lifting me off of him, and a voice in my ear. “Everything’s going to be fine, Seraphina. Come here.”
In the darkness, in my bleary state, I barely make out Everest’s mop of blond hair.
He grasps me around the waist and I tumble forward.
He guides me gently through the patch of forest to a car parked next to the cabin.
I sense other men behind us lifting up Damien’s body, and pain ricochets through my body as I wonder once more if he’s alive.
I settle numbly into the back of the car, and Everest goes to sit in the passenger seat.
Igor is waiting at the wheel, and as soon as we enter, he turns on the engine.
I look around and see that we’re in a van with three rows of seats.
Those behind me have been removed. Moments later, the light of the car illuminates Logan and Vincent as they place Damien in the back.
He’s unconscious, so white in the face that I think he must be dead, and I nearly keel over in despair.
“Still breathing,” murmurs Logan, loud enough that I can hear, and I cling onto that for dear life.
He crouches down on the floor beside Damien, holding his head in his lap, immobilizing him. I glance at Logan and my heart hurts, this time for him, when I see his drawn features and the pain in his eyes. It must be nearly as hard for him as it is for me.
But not as hard. No one can be suffering more than me right now.
I lean back against my seat, closing my eyes, my entire body tense with the threat of loss that hangs heavy in the air.
I’m hardly aware of the car driving backward, bumping through the small path covered with underbrush until it gets to a real road.
Then it speeds up, darting forward at a breath-stealing pace.
Everest’s talking in a quiet, undecipherable voice into his cell phone, but I can tell from the way he’s hunched forward, his shoulders rigid, how stressed he is.
Somehow it calms me, to feel surrounded by these people. If anyone can save Damien, it’s them.
Rain starts to fall lightly before turning into a thick sheet that tumbles from the sky, which is occasionally illuminated by a crack of lightning.
I turn my face to the window, looking at the raindrops dash against the glass.
It’s strange to see how things have come full circle in a way.
I was once their captive. Now I’m the one calling them to me.
I’m the one crying because my kidnapper is lying unconscious in the back of the van.
Unconscious, dying, and I didn’t save him.
Stupid, pointless, weak Seraphina.
Hopeless, sad, pathetic Seraphina.
You can’t have anything in this life, so why do you even fucking try? Nothing good ever chooses you. Your fate is to suffer, and then to die, like the stupid, shitty little jellyfish that you are.
I coat myself in bitter thoughts of pity and self-hatred, but somehow, exhaustion gets the better of me. Despite my world unraveling before me, somehow, I sink into a deep, though uncomfortable sleep.
I’m startled awake by an arm shaking me. For one delicious moment, I imagine it’s Damien, and I nestle closer to him, before the strange, citrusy scent makes me stiffen. It’s not Damien, it’s Logan.
“We’re here,” he says quietly, helping me out of the car and guiding me to a small, nondescript motel.
His jaw is tight, and panic eats at me. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.
“Where’s Damien?”
“Inside.”
His curt reply does nothing to calm my fear. We walk down the hallway and through one of the cracked doors I see Damien lying on a bed, his face ash-grey in the flickering motel light. Doctor Farley is hurrying around him, doing things I can’t see.
I try to go toward him, but Logan holds me back firmly. “Please, Logan. Please let me go in and see him.”
He ignores my pleas and instead pushes me toward a neighboring room where Everest is already sitting down, his fingers typing at lightning speed on his cell phone.
“Wait here,” says Logan gruffly.
“Please,” I beg again. “I love him so much. He’s alive, isn’t he? Tell me, please!”
“He is. And we’re trying to keep him that way.”
His jaw clenches as he turns away. His words make me realize just how much Damien’s life is hanging on by a thread. I grab his arm.
“Logan,” I say urgently. “I can’t possibly stay away. You can’t make me. It would be cruel.”
He pauses. “If Damien knew I’d let you see him while he was at his worst… he’d never forgive me. He’s not easy to look at right now. It’s a no. I’m sorry.”
“Logan!” I say again, and this time my voice comes out in a strained cry. “I’ve already seen him at his worst. I sewed him up, didn’t I? I literally put a needle in his skin, again and again. What can be worse than that?”
He hesitates, and Everest cuts in. “Let her go to him, Logan. He probably won’t be around long enough to forgive you. Have some pity on her.”
Logan glares at him, then juts out an arm at me just as the room starts to tilt sideways. Everest’s words have me nearly passing out, but Logan props me up. I sag against the arm that’s encircling my back while looking up at him again, pleadingly.
“Fine,” he gives in at last. “But he’s going to be fine, do you hear me? Everest, stop spewing bullshit.”