“It’s shallow, thank God,” he breathes.
He cleans the knife wound with swift, practiced movements. The smell of peroxide fills the air, then he presses fresh gauze firmly against the wound, before wrapping a compression bandage around my ribs.
“There,” he says, laying a hand over my stomach. Only then does he allow himself to exhale.
“You should sit back,” Arrow says quietly. “You’re bleeding too.”
Augusto doesn’t even turn his head. His thumb strokes the side of my face until I look up into his eyes. “You’re going to be fine.”
“What about you?” I whisper, unable to move but needing him to. “Arrow said?—"
Blood drips onto the floor beside me.
“Augusto—"
Finally, something snaps behind his eyes and he sits back on his heels then collapses against the wall. Arrow immediately kneels in front of him and tears off his shirt. There’s a gash the length of a palm through the left side of his chest. Near his heart…
Arrow gets to work quickly, cleaning the wound. Not that it helps. Every time he wipes blood away, more just pours out of him. He’s going to bleed to death.
Arrow rummages around the bag, desperately, then pulls out a small package.
“What’s that?” I whisper.
“Hemostatic gauze,” he clips, then rips the package open with his teeth. He pulls out a length, folds it into a square and presses it into the knife wound. Hard. Augusto lets out a cry through gritted teeth. Then he stares at me, his whole jaw trembling.
I dare not look away. Something tells me he needs my gaze right now. He needs me to see him. As long as I see him, he’s still on this earth.
My breaths remain shallow until five minutes have passed and Arrow releases the pressure and lets out a long exhalation.
“That should stop the bleeding,” he says, unraveling a length of bandage which he then wraps around and around Augusto’s trunk.
Sitting back on his heels, he takes a phone from his pocket and places a call. It’s cryptic and coded but I expect we’ll be receiving more men very soon.
Arrow lifts his gaze to me. “I can’t move him alone. I’ll sit here with him. You should rest.”
My jaw stiffens. “I’m not leaving him.”
Arrow nods once then sits back, his spine flat to the wall. Augusto’s eyes drift shut but his chest rises and falls softly.
So I focus on that, and not the conversation I know we need to have eventually.
Erin
The men came quickly. Augusto was carried into one of the bedrooms and laid on his back to rest. I was assigned a different room upstairs with Paige. We slept for a while then woke to the sound of my mother bustling around fetching coffees for everyone, and Mallorie fussing over us both. Every now and then, Arrow would check in on us and Mallorie’s gaze would lift.
I assume she’s grateful for the way he treated Augusto’s stab wound.
The day passes in a blur of quiet voices, soft footsteps and small bites of food, then when night falls, Paige snuggles into my side and I sleep.
When morning comes again, I wake up, careful not to move in case I wake Paige. I stare at the ceiling, a sinking sensation pressing me into the comforter. I have to do it. I can’t drag it out. I have to tell Augusto we’re leaving.
The sound of heavy breathing makes my head turn.
He’s here.
Augusto is lying back in a chair in the corner of the room, fast asleep. He was nearly stabbed in the heart, yet he’s still made his way to us.
His shirt is gone, the dressing replaced with fresh bandages around his torso.
