SO COLD (18+) currently editing

Chapter 57

SO COLD

BLOOD BUBBLED AT MY MOUTH. I felt myself become very light-headed, and I could hear myself wheezing. Try as I desperately might, my breathing came in short puffs. It was like my chest was crushed by a heavy weight. My fingers clawed at the ground, hoping to reach something or someone to help me, I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe.

I didn't want to die.

The world spun around dizzily.

I was going to die. That was a certain fact.

I couldn't die. What would happen to Seth if I left? Tears burned my eyes.

My breathing was sparser. My gasps were noticeable; a shaky squawk.

My vision darkened, cleared up slightly and then plunged into pitch blackness. I saw no more.

**

A heart monitor machine beeped steadily. There was an increase in high-pitched beeps when I regained consciousness, and my eyes flew open. Sound was the first sense I reunited with, and then came touch: softness under me, chilliness, and cool metal around my wrists.

My mouth was parched. I could smell a wet breeze, the oncoming winter and something else...coffee?

Whiteness filled my vision. It was the ceiling and a bright white bulb. It was blinding. I squeezed my eyes shut, they prickled and once adjusted to the light, I became self-aware. I wore an off-yellow hospital gown. Green waves on a bedside monitor were scribbled by an invisible hand, it was attached to my chest with sticky pads. There were tubes fixed to my chest that moved when I shifted, stuck inside of me. An IV stand by me... Wait. I was handcuffed. Frantically and violently, I tried freeing myself from the shackles that bound me to the bed's frame.

I could sense panic building up. My breathing was becoming harsher. I wasn't in a hospital. Where was I? There were no distinguishable objects in the room, nothing to pinpoint my location. Silence waited outside the room, peeking in through the windows with wide eyes.

Unexpectedly, the door swung open. Relief swamped over me as Irvin strolled in, slurping noisily from a juice carton. His arm was wrapped snugly in white bandages and hung in a sling wrapped around his neck. Face unshaven and worn out from tiredness, he –at first– didn't raise his gaze until he settled in a chair beside the bed. And then when he did, his eyes bugged out. He asked in bewilderment. "You're awake?" He exclaimed. "You're awake! Holy shit! I should go – uh, you don't need anything from me, do you? 'Cause I gotta go call the good doctor and I don't want to rush back into this room with you suddenly dead. That would be – that would suck. Water? You want water? OK, OK. Here. Shit. Wait. I've only got one arm. Yeah, I'll tell you about it later. How's that? Better?"

"My hands," my voice came out croaky even after I finished the glass of lukewarm water. "Why am I handcuffed?"

"It's for your own safety," he said, leaning into me and peeling back an eyelid. "Sorry. I shouldn't do that, I saw it on a programme. I suppose it doesn't do shit except make you look like you know what's going on. What was I saying? Oh yeah. You completely flipped the fuck out when you were shot. You had this panic attack except you weren't even conscious. Your body was twitching. I can't remember what the doctor said it was called. Anyway. Everyone thought you were going to die. It really looked like you were. You were on the brink of death and then you went still. It scared the hell out of me. We were in the back of the doctor's vehicle and your face became slack. The doctor was pumping your chest, trying to get you to breathe and he inserted endotracheal tubes into your lungs to help you breathe. The doctor rushed you into surgery and – well, I'll let him tell you what happened next. Stay tuned for the next episode. Too soon for jokes? Sorry."