Shock replacing that twisted confidence.
He gurgles.
Stumbles.
Collapses.
And just like that—it’s over.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Broken only by my own ragged breathing.
By the sound of something dripping—no.
No, no, no?—
“Benji,” I choke out, rushing forward, my hands shaking as I grab onto him.
There’s blood.
So much blood.
“Oh my God—oh my God?—”
“I’m okay,” he says immediately, his voice strained but steady, his hands already coming up to hold me, to anchor me even now. “Ezzy, look at me—I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay, you’re bleeding?—”
“It’s not bad,” he insists, pulling me closer, pressing me against him like he needs to feel me, to confirm I’m real. “I’ve had worse.”
My vision blurs with tears.
“I thought—” My voice breaks. “I thought I lost you?—”
“You didn’t,” he says fiercely, his hand cupping the back of my head, pressing my face into his shoulder. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
I cling to him.
Trembling.
Breathing him in like it’s the only thing keeping me standing.
His heartbeat is fast.
Strong.
Alive.
Thank God.
Thank God.
After a moment, I feel him shift.
Pulling back just enough to reach for something.
His phone.
