Shattered Asylum

Chapter 97

Grayson's POV

They burst through the ER doors with her on the stretcher. I'm right there, but it's like my body can't move fast enough to keep up with the chaos.

A doctor is on top her her... literally straddling her small frame, both hands locked together, slamming down on her chest over and over. The sound of each compression is a violent, sicking thud, and every one feels like it's cracking something inside me.

Her head lolls with the motion. Her hair is damp, clinging to her face. Her lips... fuck, they're too pale.

They shout numbers I can't process. "Thirty two down! Still no pulse! Keep going!"

I follow them down the hall, my boots hammering the floor, but my gaze never leaves her. The room tilts around me. It doesn't feel real... can't be real... because if it is, then she's slipping further away with every second and I can't do a damn thing to stop it.

Arnaldo's there already, standing frozen outside the trauma bay doors. Chiara is at his side, her hand over her mouth, tears spilling fast. I've never seen them like this. Not rattled. Not worried. Broken.

Arnaldo's eyes meet mine for half a second, and in that look, I see it, he thinks she's gone.

They wheel her inside, glass doors swinging shut between us. I press my hands to the cold surface, forehead against it, watching as they swarm her.

One nurse grabs a bag valve mask, forcing air into her lungs. Another hooks her up to monitors. The flatline tone is sharp, unrelenting, an awful, thing scream in the room.

Someone climbs onto a stool, hanging IV fluids above her. Another doctor takes over compressions, counting under his breath, sweat running down his temple.

Her body jerks with each push, and I have to remind myself she's not awake, not reacting, it's just physics. She's so still otherwise. Too still.

I've seen death before. Plenty of it. But nothing in me is equipped to handle the thought of seeing it in her.

I can't hear most of what they're saying through the glass, but I catch fragments. "No rhythm... adrenaline now... push two more rounds..."

Time bends. I don't know if it's been two minutes or ten. My throat is dry, my fists clenched so hard my nails dig into my palms.

Chiara is crying into Arnaldo's shoulder. His jaw is set like stone, but his eyes are red. His hands shake, Arnaldo, who's never shaken a day in his life.

A sharp beep cuts through the flatline and my head snaps up. There's a blip on the monitor, small but there, and I swear my lungs finally drag in a full breath for the first time since we got here.

The team moves faster. A nurse checks her airway. Another adjusts the oxygen. The lead doctor's voice rises: "We've got something... don't lose it!"

I can't look away from her face. Even through the mess of tubes and wires, she's still Aven. My Aven. The girl who laughs like she hasn't lived through a life full of pain. The girl who fights like she's not afraid of losing.

Her chest rises shallowly, but it's her now, not the doctor forcing it. Her lashes don't flutter. Her lips don't part. But her heart is fighting.