Getting over Gabe

C H A P T E R 28

C H A P T E R    28

Time passed, and there was nothing. No sign of him. The joy I had felt minutes before vanished, slowly, but surely. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. It should have taken to two minutes there and back. I told myself not to worry, that he only got delayed, that any second he’d turn the corner. But he didn’t.

Worry seized me. After twenty minutes of waiting I packed up, which didn’t take more than a minute; all I had was my bag and the sleeping bags, but I decided to leave the sleeping bags because they would take too long to pack and I doubted anyone would want to steel them.

I put the bag on my back, told myself that he was fine, that he hadn’t left me, that everything was going to be okay. I imagined turning the corner and bumping into him. He’d say: Hey.

And I’d say, Hi.

And he’d look closely at me and say, Have you been crying?

I’d shake my head, but he’d wipe away my tears and say, Why?

And I’d say, I thought something had happened to you.

But he’d be fine. He’d look just the way he looked when he left. Fine. Alright. Okay.

I shook myself. When had I started to cry so easily? I asked myself. I never once cried when Gabe was around, I learned to toughen up.

I walked faster, pretended everything was fine, wiped away my tears. My hands shook so I shoved them in the pockets of my jeans. I told myself I was being stupid and paranoid. And all though I knew in my heart of hearts something was very, very wrong, I pretended, and I walked. I concentrated on one foot in front of the other, carrying on walking. Until I got to the crossing near the petrol station.

And that’s when I saw it. Saw him.

He was lying there in the road, still, not moving. I couldn’t even see his chest rising. He was a bloody mess. And my first thought was. He’s dead.

I ran to him, ran to his bloodied body, crumpled and unmoving on the floor. Limp like a puppet whose strings had been cut. And it hurt so much to see the boy who I’d always thought of as strong, invincible almost, lying there, barely conscious. But he was conscious. His eyes were wide open, he blinked, and although he seemed barely able to speak, I could hear faint whispers of labored breathes tugging through his lungs.

‘Cam! Cam? Oh my God! How long have you been like this? Do you have a phone? I need to call an ambulance. Yes. That’s what I need to do. Call someone. Find a phone. There’s a payphone over there. Change. I need change. Fuck! Fuck.’ The last curse word was a whisper.

Breathe deep, Katy. I told myself.  Be brave. You can do this. You have to do this.

I stood.

‘I’ll be back in a second, okay, Cam?’ He didn’t respond. ‘Cam?’ He jerked his head slightly, which I took to be a nod.

‘Stay awake, okay! Okay? Can you do that for me? Cam?’ He jerked his head again.

I fumbled for change, my hands shaking too much, making everything harder. I glanced over at the petrol station, wondering whether I could get help from inside, but the lights were off.

I couldn’t think straight. I had no clue what I was doing, I dialed nine, nine, nine, the British emergency number. The only emergency number I knew. Thankfully Ireland had the same number.

‘Hello? This is emergency services?’

‘I need an ambulance. And doctors. Anyone. Anyone at all .Please. Please. Quickly.’