The shattered glass.
The pool of blood.
The sickening sound I heard over the phone.
But most of all, his broken, slurred admission:
You were real… the only real thing in my pathetic life… I royally fucked up with you, Mimi.
This is all my fault.The thought settles like a sharp stone in my gut.I pushed him.
I did this.
The word I lied to the paramedic with echoes in my ears.
Fiancée.
I had to claim a title I despise just to be here.Trapped in this speeding box with the man whose cage I just escaped, praying he doesn’t die.
The ambulance makes a sharp turn, and my gaze falls to my hands.They are trembling, the reddish-brown stains stark against my pale skin.
This is his blood.
A wave of nausea rolls through me.I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe through my nose.
The sirens wind down, and the lurching motion stops.The back doors are thrown open, flooding the space with the harsh lights of the emergency bay.A new team in scrubs waits with a gurney.
“What do we have?”a doctor asks, his voice sharp and authoritative.
The paramedics rattle off numbers and terms as they transfer James from their stretcher to the hospital’s gurney.It’s a blur of professional chaos.They rush him inside, down a brightly lit corridor.I scramble out of the ambulance, following, until a nurse with a kind expression puts a hand on my arm to stop me.
“We’ll take it from here,” she says gently.“You can wait in the family waiting room.Down the hall to your left.”
And just like that, I’m left alone in the sterile hallway.The organized chaos of the ER swallowing James whole.The adrenaline that has been holding me together vanishes all at once, leaving me shaky, cold, and utterly lost.
I find the grim waiting room and collapse into one of the plastic chairs, my body succumbing to the tremors.I drop my head into my hands, the smell of dried blood and antiseptic filling my senses.
My phone, buried deep in my purse, begins to vibrate.The sound is alien and violent in the quiet of this empty room.I stare at my purse, unable to move.The phone continues its relentless summons.
With a shaking hand, I pull it out.
My heart stops when I look at the screen.
Matthew.
And underneath, in tiny bold letters:
5 Missed Calls
A fresh wave of nausea hits me.In my all-consuming panic for James, I had completely forgotten about Matthew.About him picking me up from the café.
My thumb hovers over the screen, trembling.I know I have to answer.
I swipe to accept the call.“Matt,” I whisper his name, a broken sound.
“Amy, thank God!Where have you been?Are you okay?”
Hearing his loving, worried voice finally shatters me completely.A ragged sob escapes me, my entire body shaking with the force of it.
