❝ 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪 '𝘭𝘭 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 ❞
frannie is willing to do anything to get back to her family, but can she put her trust in strangers to do it?
[slow updates]
[book 2/4]
[glenn rhee x fem!oc]
[through...
ओह! यह छवि हमारे सामग्री दिशानिर्देशों का पालन नहीं करती है। प्रकाशन जारी रखने के लिए, कृपया इसे हटा दें या कोई भिन्न छवि अपलोड करें।
tw: suicidal thoughts, death
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I look down at Eugene as he lies there on the ground. I cleaned him up, fixed his wounds the best I could, rolled him to his side for better breathing, even gave him my jacket to make sure he stays warm. I'm helping, even if he doesn't deserve it.
I grab his wrist and check his pulse again, feeling the steady rhythm of a healthy heart. Sometimes he opens his eyes, only for moment before they roll back and he's out like a light again. I take that as a good sign.
I stand up and walk towards the fire truck, where Rosita, Tara, and Glenn stand together.
"Anything?" Tara wonders as I approach them.
"He's in and out, but never fully conscious, you know?" I tell them, even though they don't know. "I don't think he has a spinal injury, so that's something at least."
"Should we get him to the church?" Asks Glenn.
"If I'm wrong and he does have a spinal injury, he could get seriously hurt. Not to mention I'm pretty certain he has a concussion. Moving him is risky."
"What will make him better?" Questions Rosita, still concerned over his life after everything. I'm not sure I would care if I were in her shoes
"Waking up." I state. "If he's unconscious for too long he could go into a coma or get brain damage— then we really couldn't move him."
We all look past ourselves and to Abraham. He hasn't move since it happened. He's on his knees, in the middle of the road as he stares into nothingness. Shock, maybe. Nonetheless, Rosita walks over to him with a bottle of water.
"Come on, you haven't had anything to drink all day." She says to him, raising a brow a him. "Take the bottle." Abraham does nothing. "Seriously, my six-year-old nephew didn't pull this shit—"
He hits the bottle out of her hand. It bursts open against the pavement, spilling our limited supply to be evaporated by the sun.
Rosita sighs heavily and leans down, face-to-face with him. "Don't do this, Abraham. Look at me."
"Don't." He mutters.
"Look at me!" She shouts, and he finally does. His eyes are no longer distant as he stands up, towering over her. They're full of fire.
