The pressure in my head expands, growing infinitely; it’s too much, and I can’t contain it.White noise makes my ears pop, and I fall to my knees, closing my eyes against the piercing light.
There’s a sickening crunch, and the pressure breaks, leaving me gasping on my hands and knees.I heave in breath after breath.Every bone in my body aches.They crack and grind as I push myself up.
I stumble into the wall.
Everyone’s on the ground, pushed as far as possible away from me.
The leader’s helmet is cracked, the visor shattered and broken.Their thoughts are silent.I’m too afraid to know if they’re not breathing.
I’m not sure I could stomach killing someone.
Even Lucky is a little dazed, looking up at me in awe.It looks like he got hit with the least of it, and relief threatens to bring me to my knees.Despite the power raging through me, all that matters is keeping him and Sterling safe.
Noise from upstairs gets my attention.The calvary is here.We need to go.
I find Sterling.
Oh my God.
My heart is hammering in my throat.He’s propped himself up against the wall, shirt stained with blood.He keeps pressure on the wound with one hand, the other outstretched.
I clasp it in mine.“You need to see a doctor.There are EMTs outside?—”
He shakes his head.“Don’t leave me.”
Lucky looks at me.
The shouts are louder now.
“We can’t stay,” I say.
Sterling pushes himself to standing with a grunt.“Take me with you.”
Lucky’s grip is tight in mine, his eyes blazing.
“We can’t seriously be debating this; you’ve been shot—you do realize that, right?A bullet went into your body.”
“I’ve patched myself up before.”
Lucky and I drop our jaws.
“This is ridiculous.You’re going to a hospital; I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“You heard the lady,” Lucky said.“Let’s go.”
* * *
Sterling is in the hospital for four days.The first twenty-four hours is the worst because he disappears into surgery, and no amount of us calling him our partner gets us into his room.We sleep in fits and starts in the waiting area.
By the end of day one, I’ve plucked enough secrets from hospital management for us to leverage.It gets us into Sterling’s room, and we keep a vigil for every second of visiting hours over the next three days.
The nurses always joke that we appear out of thin air in the mornings.
Sterling wakes as grumpy as ever, but there’s color returning to his cheeks, and he never complains when I’m gripping his hand tight enough to leave nail marks.
If the bullet had hit two inches lower …
It’s too horrible to think about.
