I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) - A Tayvis Story

All I Did Was Bleed

TW

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Taylor collapsed to her knees, a raw, guttural scream ripping from her throat as she cradled Joe's  head in her lap. She was clutching onto Joe's lifeless frame, her fingers gripping his shirt, shaking him as though she could will life back into his cold body. Her tears fell like a relentless storm, splashing onto his ashen face, her heart breaking piece by piece with every second that passed.

She pressed her trembling hands against his chest, her lips brushing his cold forehead, as if she could somehow force her love, her life into him. But Joe was gone. She knew it—her rational mind could see the signs: the stillness, the pale skin, the absence of breath. But her heart... her heart refused to believe it, still pleading for a miracle that wasn't coming.

Time seemed to warp—every second stretched into an eternity. Her mind screamed at her to do something, to save him, but her body was frozen in place. The deafening silence of the room was broken only by her ragged sobs. It felt like the world had collapsed around her, leaving only this moment of unbearable grief.

Through her haze of disbelief, Taylor fumbled for her phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed 911. Her voice was choked and barely coherent as she spoke, trying to get the words out.

"My... my boyfriend, he... he's not breathing," she managed to whisper between sobs, her voice breaking with each word. "Please... please, send someone. He's not breathing."

Every minute felt like a lifetime as she waited, still clutching Joe's body as if somehow her love could bring him back. Tears streamed down her face, her mind spiraling into despair. She whispered his name over and over, begging him to wake up, to come back to her. But Joe remained still, his eyes closed, his chest unmoving.

When the paramedics finally burst through the door, their voices filled the air, sharp and urgent, their presence registering faintly in the haze of her devastation. Taylor was still clutching onto Joe's lifeless body, her fingers locked in place as though letting go would make his death more real. They tried to gently pry her fingers away, speaking to her softly, but their words were muffled, distant, drowned out by the scream of her own grief.

"Ma'am, you need to let go," one of the paramedics said gently, crouching beside her. "We need to help him, but you have to let go." but Taylor couldn't comprehend. She couldn't let him go.

She clutched Joe tighter, her mind unable to process the reality before her. Only when one of the paramedics gently but firmly pulled her away did she release her grip, her arms falling limp to her sides. The paramedics worked swiftly, but Taylor knew—deep down, she knew—that it was already too late.

A paramedic knelt beside her, speaking softly, trying to ground her, but the words floated past her ears like they belonged to someone else. Her hands instinctively wrapped around her pregnant belly, her whole body trembling. She stared at them as they worked on Joe, her mind racing between disbelief and a hollow, sinking certainty.

They lifted Joe onto a stretcher, preparing to transport him to the hospital. One of the paramedics, a woman with kind, patient eyes, gently asked if Taylor wanted to ride with them.

She couldn't. She couldn't be in that ambulance, watching them drive him to a place that couldn't save him.

"No... no, I'll follow," Taylor managed to whisper, her voice cracking under the weight of her grief.

She stumbled into her car, her hands shaking as she gripped the steering wheel. The world outside blurred, her vision clouded by tears. With trembling fingers, she dialed her mother's number. The phone rang twice before Andrea answered, her voice warm and familiar.