That's the only thought left. Everything else has burned away. The cocaine is in the false bottom drawer, and if I can just get to it, one line, one fucking line, the shaking will stop, and my heart will slow down, and I'll be able to breathe again.
I push her hands away. Or try to. My arms don't work right. She's saying my name, but it sounds like it's coming through water.
I start crawling.
My elbows drag across the floor. My knees scrape against the wood. Every inch is agony. The room tilts and bucks beneath me like a living thing, and I'm vomiting again, or trying to, my body heaving with nothing left to give.
The hallway. I make it to the hallway. The bedroom door is open. I can see the dresser from here. Bottom drawer. False bottom. Two thousand euros’ worth of salvation wrapped in plastic.
Almost there.
My arms give out. My face hits the floor, and the impact sends white light across my vision. I try to get up. Can't. Tryagain. My fingers claw at the wood, but there's no strength in them.
The dresser is six feet away. Might as well be six miles.
The edges of my vision go dark. Not slowly. Fast. Like someone pulling a curtain closed from both sides.
No. Not yet. I just need to...
Gone.
"William! William, wake up. Wake up, please. Please."
Hands on my face. Shaking me. Slapping my cheek. Not hard, but frantic. Again and again.
"Don't do this. Don't you dare do this. William!"
I come back in pieces. Sound first. Her voice, high and scared and cracking. Then sensation. The cold floor against my back. She's turned me over. My shirt is soaked through. The shaking is worse now, violent, my whole body rattling against the floorboards.
I try to open my eyes. The light is blinding.
"Oh God. Oh, thank God." Her voice breaks. "You stopped breathing. You stopped... I couldn't find a pulse for..."
She can't finish. Her hands are on my chest, my face, my neck, checking, pressing, and they're shaking as badly as mine.
I try to talk. What comes out is a groan.
"Don't move. Stay still. I need to..."
She's looking around. Frantic. Like she's searching for something that isn't there. A phone. A medic. Anything.
There's nothing. We're alone.
"Aoife." Barely a whisper.
"Shut up. Don't talk. Just breathe."
"The drawer." I roll my head toward the bedroom. My voice isn't mine. It's thin and broken, and I hate it. "Bottom...false bottom. I need..."
She follows my gaze. Looks at the dresser. Looks back at me.
And I watch her understand.
"No."
The word is quiet. But absolute.
"Please." It comes out as a rasp. "One line. That's all. One and I can...I can breathe. I can..."
