Chapter 33 #2
West drops the unconscious man on the floor, his body slumped into a lifeless heap. I wish he was still awake to experience the humiliation and pain he put Berlyn through. But West knocked him unconscious almost the second he had his hands on him.
He makes his way over to me, stopping to brush a strand of hair from Berlyn’s face. He’s more torn up than I’ve ever seen him. Seeing our girl covered in blood. His sigh weighs on my soul, but he shakes it off, picking up the shard of glass I had to pry from her grip.
Ezra joins him, holding his shoulder in support. Matthews is bleeding like a stuck pig, but it’s not too much to come back from. Yet.
“Widen? Or a new wound?” Ezra asks as they both examine the shard. Cole drags Matthews across the floor, staging it to look like we only pulled him off Berlyn. It’s not perfect, but it doesn’t have to be. Only passable.
Cole has worked with Scar enough times to know exactly how to make the logistics work.
“Widen it,” he suggests. “She didn’t hit the aorta, but you should be able to.”
Messy. But the best way to cover this up.
West does the honors, a slow and methodical stab so unlike the rage that fueled his fists. The blood immediately starts gushing when he pulls the shard back out with more force than strictly necessary.
Cole shakes his head, pointing to Ezra, whose calm facade should not be underestimated.
He’s seething on the inside and none of us have truly had our rage satisfied with this.
It’ll never be enough. Not even the rapidly growing pool of blood grows under his body.
“Call the cops and try to sound distraught, yeah?” he snarks.
Ezra forces himself to take a deep breath, grabbing his phone and preparing to put on the performance of a lifetime. He doesn’t quite manage damsel in distress, but he pulls off panicked college student alright.
He speaks in broken sentences. Saying enough, but not really.
“My girlfriend’s father,” he hyperventilates. “She didn’t mean to.” The 911 operator does her best to calm him down, but he continues his elevated breathing and shaky voice. The whole time his eyes look bored as we watch her father bleed out at our feet. “There’s so much blood.”
Cole arches a brow, watching the scene with amusement, nudging the almost corpse with his foot and nodding to himself. “Tell them we need an ambulance,” he snaps, infusing his own voice with a sense of energy before nodding to himself like he was proud of that.
It’s almost hard not to laugh. The dichotomy in the way this scene sounds and how it looks.
“He was attacking her,” Ezra cries. “We need help.” He takes another deep breath and Berlyn stirs in my arms as I hold her tighter. She needs an ambulance. We have no idea how much damage he did to her before we got here.
He stutters out her address before adding, “They’re both unconscious. There’s so much blood.”
She promises an ambulance and officers are on their way and begins to ask him questions about if there are any weapons. “I don’t think he’s breathing.” He stammers and panics his way through the ordeal and by the end, some of my raw anger has been softened.
“I hear sirens,” he murmurs and finally is able to get off the phone. We all groan, moving into our own places to make this look convincing.
Cole rips his shirt off, using the bunched material to hold against Matthew’s wound. It’s far too late now, there’s a good chance he’s already dead. Blood soaks the shirt instantly. If he isn’t he will be soon. The blood no longer gushes, slowing as it seeps out from him.
“Didn’t want to use a rag?” I joke and he rolls his eyes.
“Felt more theatrical this way.”
I don’t remember him having such a sense of humor. Has he been getting laid or something?
Ezra grabs a clean kitchen rag and holds it against the wound on Berlyn’s head. It’s not bleeding too much any more and doesn’t look serious but it makes me feel better to see her taken care of. West opens the front before pretending to be helping Cole.
Soon enough, the room is filled with cops and paramedics. Berlyn doesn't stir through it all and I begin to worry more about her head wound. Did she take more damage than we thought?
Ezra and Cole take the lead, West pretends to be in shock, and I focus on Berlyn. At least I don’t have to pretend. Paramedics assess her, loading her up onto a gurney and I follow closely behind.
“Is she going to be okay?” I ask.
The woman pushing the gurney gives me a soft smile. “Her vitals are strong. We’re going to have to take her to the hospital to figure out what else is going on.”
Her and her partner begin asking me more questions about what happened to her. I can’t tell them everything, but I tell them enough to guarantee they know where to look to start helping her.
“You said she hates blood?” they prompt, loading Berlyn into the back of the ambulance, moving with a sense of urgency that belies their assurances. I look back over my shoulder at the house.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Her eyes rolled back when she saw the blood on her hands.” I clear my throat. “Can I stay with her?”
They both nod, urging me into the ambulance. The sirens blare and we take off towards the hospital. I hold Berlyn’s hand as the paramedics work around me.
Berlyn’s heart rate increases, the monitors beeping and my eyes flare wide, looking to the paramedics to do something but they’re already moving their hands all over her body. Her eyes slowly blink open, full of confusion as she finds the two hovering over her.
Her breathing increases, panic rising in her face and I squeeze her hand. Her eyes snap to mine and flood with relief and confusion.
“Jude,” she cries.
“I’m here, baby. I got you,” I promise.
The paramedics trade looks. “Nice of you to join us,” the woman jokes, attempting to lighten the mood. “Can you do me a favor and take a nice deep breath? We’re gonna try and get that heart rate down, okay?”
Berlyn tries to nod but can’t really move her head and her panic starts all over again.
“You’re okay,” I promise. “They had to stabilize your neck. That’s all.”
“Good,” the paramedic closest to me murmurs. “Keep her calm.”
“Jude, what happened?” she whispers and the paramedics trade concerned looks. They grab a pen light, flashing it over her eyes and asking her to track it, her pupils dilating. She’s able to and some of the weight on my chest eases.
“My father?” she asks, horrified. “There was so much blood.” Her voice breaks.
I squeeze her hand again. “Don’t think about it, B. Let’s focus on getting you taken care of. Okay?”
“Stay with me?” she asks.
“Always,” I promise.