Take her to the hospital.
I nearly miss my turn and the wheels squeal as they lose their grip on the tarseal when I overcorrect. Still driving one-handed, I wrestle the vehicle back under control. Em gulps in air, coughs, gulps again.
She’s alive but not conscious.
I don’t know if she’ll ever be conscious again.
You should take her to the hospital. If you don’t and she doesn’t recover…
And my brain cuts off that track. Not yet. I’m not ready for that song to play yet.
The needle in my consciousness skips, jumps forward. We’re there. The garage door takes an age to lift, me tapping one hand on the wheel, the other keeping Em’s head steady.
There are claw marks on her neck. Deep scratches where she tried to get under the rope, to set herself free. Her body undermining her brain’s decision.
I snap my eyes forward as the door finally rises high enough for me to drive forward. Parking inside, I hit the door release so it trundles slowly back into place. I lean over to unbuckle Em’s seatbelt.
The second I take my hands off her, she slides downwards.
I jump out and run around the car, getting to her before she’s fully slumped, her head lolling forward. As I tilt it back with my left hand, I press the fingertips of my right to her neck. There’s a pulse but I leave them in place a few seconds longer. Leave them there until I can convince myself it’s not my own heartbeat interfering in the results.
She’s so cold. I don’t know how long she was hanging there, part of her still wanting to live. Still desperate enough to try.
Why didn’t I pay attention when Zach warned me? I dismissed his words the same way I dismiss everyone with an opinion that doesn’t fit neatly into mine. He basically told me I was in danger of driving her over the edge, and I didn’t even listen hard enough to hear him, let alone take my foot off the accelerator.
I pick her up in my arms and fumble my way through the connecting door, trying not to bump her accidentally. Inside, I move straight to my room, into the ensuite, then lower her to the floor of the shower cubicle.
Em’s eyelids flutter open, she stares straight into my eyes, the corners creasing into a smile, then they close again.
Hope beats in time with my pulse. I’m scared to breathe, scared to do anything that might make the universe take back its decision.
“Hey.” I shake her back and forth, her head rolling limply on her neck in a way that makes me feel seasick. “Wakey, wakey.”
“Don’t. Five more minutes.” She tries to roll over as though she’s lying in bed and I stand to flick on the shower. It’s cold but I haul Em under its spray anyway, feeling the icy needles darting into my skin, soaking my clothes.
She gives a faint shriek and tries to fight me off with hands that feel boneless.
“Come on. Come back to me.”
I strip off her clothes, careful not to bang her head. She’s filthy. They’re filthy. Everything in her body released while she fought to stay alive.
She helps me and hinders me, still not tracking what’s going on. Every sign of movement feels like a triumph.
My jeans are heavy with water, and I carefully slump Em against the wall of the shower before standing to peel them off. When I’m naked, I take hold of her again, helping her to stand.
Her eyes open again, slowly creeping around the room, bending her head when I aim it under the showerhead.
When she can support her own weight, hands propped on the shower walls, I lather up a mesh scrub and carefully clean her from head to toe. At her neck, I stare at the deepening red of the ligature mark. That’s a bad sign. Her unconsciousness was another.
People can die days after hanging. The attempts her body makes to heal from the trauma might worsen the damage.
I should take her to a hospital. It’s the wise choice. The choice a good person would make.
Except then you’ll lose her.
Nobody in their right mind would voluntarily let me near her. Not the boy who set this whole thing in motion, terrorising her until she… until she…
I snap my attention back where it should be.
