Everything with you

Part 71

Emma

I struggled to open my eyes, the brightness stabbing at me like needles. Shapes blurred and swayed above me white coats, blue scrubs. Voices floated around me, muffled, like I was underwater. Someone was asking me something, their lips moving too fast.

I tried to answer. I think I did. But the weight of exhaustion dragged me back under, pulling me into a sleep that felt too comfortable, too soft.

And then I was back there.

The empty building. The concrete floor was cold against my skin. The echo of boots on metal stairs. Henry's men were dragging me, throwing me down like I was nothing.

Gunshots split the air, each one sharp and violent, rattling my skull. My eyes flew open just enough to see

Justin.

Getting hit, his body taking the blows meant for someone else. No, no... he wasn't supposed to be here. He should've been at the game, celebrating, smiling, safe. Not bleeding, not like this.

More gunshots. The noise burrowed into my head until I thought it would split open. A sharp pain bloomed in my stomach, hot and slicing, then slowly dulling, fading to nothing. The darkness pulled at me, dragging me down.

The last thing I saw was his face bloodied, broken. My arm, desperate, trying to reach for him.

And then nothing.

I startled awake with a gasp. My chest heaved, monitors shrieked in time with my panic, and the lights above blinded me.

"Emma... honey... I'm here," a voice choked through the chaos.

I turned my head, slow and heavy, to see her Mom. Her hand gripped mine tight, trembling, her eyes full of tears. Behind her was Dad, his jaw clenched, his eyes red too. Both of them were looking at me like they'd been holding their breath for days.

I tried to speak. Tried to tell them I was okay, that I was here. But only a broken rasp came out, raw and painful.

The doctors rushed in then, the whirlwind of motion tightening around me. Hands checked monitors, and another lifted a penlight, guiding me to follow its glow. I did, though my eyes burned.

"Easy, Emma. Take it easy. You had a tube down your throat for several days. Your voice will come back, but not yet," one of them explained gently.

I wanted to scream that I didn't care about my voice, that I needed something else. My chest tightened, panic rising.

I searched the room frantically, scanning faces, white coats, scrubs... until I found him.

Justin.

He stood at the doorway, rigid, his knuckles white against the frame. His eyes were wide and terrified, like he was afraid to move, afraid I'd vanish if he came closer.

Relief flooded me, washing over the fear. My hand, heavy as stone, lifted from the sheets. I reached for him, desperate even if I could barely lift him.

Dad noticed first. His voice cracked when he said, "Come inside, son."

Justin didn't hesitate after that. He was at my side in seconds, his face close, his eyes glossy. I managed to push my hand forward, and he caught it instantly, holding it like it was the most fragile thing in the world.

He let out a shaky breath, one that sounded like he'd been holding it forever. Tears slipped down his face, unguarded, raw.

I squeezed his hand weakly, wishing I could tell him everything. Wishing I could tell him I remembered. That he'd saved me. That he was the reason I was here.