ANGEL BLUE [1]

LEAD 40: til death do us part

      Officer down.

      I grunt, supporting my weight on my forearms, resting my forehead against the ice. Everywhere in my body pulsates, burns, crackles with pain. But it's not me they're saying that's down. No, the bullets which Quade pumped into me were only to severely wound, he wants my survival.

      It's not until I open my eyes when it hits me. There's a shadow blocking the light in front of me, so many shadows, so many voices. By the time I struggle into a sitting position, I'm staring into Sam's eyes, pupils dilated and almost swallowed by his sclera.

      His lips part and his breath clouds the space between us, it's just then where I decide the bullet wounds don't hurt anymore. Not compared to Sam. I look down at his white press button-up and it's saturated, his entire abdomen is eviscerated with bullet punctures. Blood stains Sam's lips as he tries to smirk at me, but it twitches away.

      I frantically pat myself down; there are no bullet wounds, only the penetrating gash to my shoulder. I paw around on the ice beneath me, slick not with my blood, but Sam's. Had I imagined being shot? I felt the bullets; I looked Quade in the eye when he shot me! Or had I? But how―Dad restrained Sam, how could he have...

      Sam aspirated.

      The pupils of Sam's eyes are no longer off cuts of Jade; they're darker, like liquid Amethyst. A dark ring of black encompasses his iris while the iris itself churns like molten lava, a dark vibrant purple. He thought he was going to lose his soulmate, but in truth, I'm going to lose mine.

      Sam collapses against me, his forehead resting against my right shoulder. He coughs dryly, clutching onto my arms for support. I don't scream, no not just yet, I hold him tight, pressing his body flush against me―I do something completely out of character, I cry.

      It starts off as airy breaths, becoming frequent and shallow before my whole body erupts with sheer cries of fear and hurt. It only takes me a breath before my mind kicks into gear―I have to save Sam's life. Since Sam's not wearing a belt, I have to ask for someone elses.

      "Someone give me their belt I need to make a tourniquet!" I shout.

     The eighteen officers which accompanied Sam and Dad to Trump Rink stand dumfounded, no doubt in awe of what Sam did, none of them speak, they just stare. When Dad tries to command his men to obey my order, Nikita cuts in gruffly saying, "All of you get out, oh and Chief, call your Medical Examiner friend his services are needed."

      I can feel my lip spasm in pure anger, the sting of my eyes and throb of my gums. Mr Hyde is about to come out and play. I hastily dig my nails into the thick layer of ice, scraping fine shavings into the air. I'm a breath away from snapping completely when I hear Sam's breathless voice fan my ear.

      "Say your oath," he says.

      I grunt as my body begins to burn all over as I struggle to keep Mr Hyde in check. I huff out a strained breath, "I'm trying to save your life."

      Sam is completely still against my quivering body, yet his face is a mix of contempt and uncertainty. He doesn't want to become another Angel Blue statistic, I can tell that the images of GSP's passing are livid beneath his violet eyes as he tightens one of his arms around his abdomen.

      He smirks softly, more to himself than at me. I don't see why he seems to be so pleased about until his free hand drops from my arm and burrows into his trouser pocket, what he produces from the fabric is enough for time to stop, for wounds to be forgotten and for rage to be snuffed out.