Chapter Sixty-Three Ella
Chapter Sixty-Three
Ella
Blaring alarms erupt all around me, the shrill pitch of the monitors tearing through the room.
I jolt upright, disoriented, my heart slamming wildly against my ribs. For a split second, I don’t know where I am. My mind scrambles, lagging behind the chaos.
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
The sound cuts through the fog. My gaze snaps to the heart monitor.
A flat line.
Blinking lights strobe across the room, harsh and erratic.
“No!” I scream. “Tiero!”
The door flies open. A doctor I don’t recognize and two nurses rush in, shoving past me without hesitation.
“Miss O’Neil, you need to step outside,” one of the nurses says urgently.
I don’t move.
I can’t.
My body refuses to obey, locked in place as my world fractures in front of me.
The nurse grips my good hand and pulls me from the room.
Lex, Rhia, and Claudette are there, arms wrapping around me as I stumble back. I cling to them for a heartbeat, then tear myself free, pressing up against the glass.
I can’t look away.
Antonio stands nearby, unmoving, watching from the sidelines.
Medical terms fly through the air, sharp and incomprehensible.
I can’t breathe.
Tiero.
The nurse hands the doctor the defibrillator.
My stomach drops.
They shock him.
Tiero’s body jerks violently, the force of it ripping through me as if I’ve been struck too.
The line stays flat.
“No,” I whisper. “Please.”
They shock him again.
Nothing.
“This isn’t working,” the doctor says. “Start CPR.”
My vision blurs as something inside me breaks. I scrub at my eyes, desperate to see and desperate not to.
The doctor’s hands press down on Tiero’s chest. Once. Twice. Again. The rhythm is relentless. Beads of sweat form along his brow as the seconds stretch into agony.
The monitor doesn’t change.
Why isn’t it changing?
The clock on the wall ticks forward, each second carving itself into me.
Please, God. Don’t take him.
The nurse wipes the doctor’s forehead. He doesn’t stop.
Agonizing second, maybe even minutes, pass. I don’t dare take my eyes off the line on the monitor, willing it to start again. It doesn’t.
Then, the doctor’s hands still.
The room falls eerily quiet as the nurse silences the monitor.
I stare through the glass, my chest burning, my ears ringing.
The doctor lowers his head.
No.
“No,” I breathe.
He looks up, his expression solemn, final.
“Time of death,” he says quietly. “Five twenty-two a.m.”