:Kidnapped: And all he say's is 'Sorry'?

Kidnapped Part 5

I darted round the corner as fast as I could, my vision was starting to blur from the adrenaline and my breaths were coming fast, hard and shallow. As soon as the alleyway was out of sight, I stopped and propped against the wall. The now purple bruise on my shoulder was reacting poorly to my insistent massaging. I prodded it lightly again and took a sharp breath as I felt the pain shoot up my shoulder and neck. Ow. That bruise was going to be a keeper.

My hand flexed, somewhere in my panic Ryan had broken from my grip. He should have been right behind me, panic began to bubble under the surface. What was taking so long? Edging my way around the corner, my entire body froze at the sight of Ryan crouched on the ground, coughing violently. He was wincing and curling up, every time the sharp cough racked his body. I did a quick sweep with my eyes, before running back down the small alleyway and falling to my knees next to him.

"Ryan, listen to me. We need to get out of here." His body was wet with sweat, a sign that his body was failing him. My hands reached to cup his face, his eyes had started to glaze over. It was late afternoon. We were on the back streets of downtown, the industrial area, not a place you stay willingly. "Fast." I said to him, with urgency.

"Just go Hayley. I'm not going to be able to run." His roving eyes finally locked on mine, he was right. There was such a truth in his eyes, deep lines etched into his face from the pain. It was heartbreaking to see someone so anguished, and not even be able to help them.

I let out a deep groan of frustration.

"Ryan, don't you get it. I'm not leaving you, so stop deluding yourself!" I cried, starting to get annoyed at his, 'leave me' act. "Where's the closest car lot?" I looked at him, a plan forming.

"Hayley, I am not going to let you steal a car, you don't need that hanging over you. You'll wake up tomorrow and regret all of this, I'm telling you." He whispered, it was deathly quiet, but his voice was so raspy I had to strain to hear.

“If I wake up tomorrow. If we don’t move now… who knows what will happen.” I stared at him for a long time. There would be no regret for helping him, only for neglecting him. His hands wrapped around mine slowly, slick with blood. The connection was palpable, terrifying. I knew then, that the only thing I would be regretting tomorrow was leaving Ryan, when he didn't leave me.

"No." I said simply. And was rewarded with a confused look from Ryan in return.

"No what?" He said, his eyes starting to droop. Then his teeth grit together as another cough racked his body and he keeled over. One of the bullets had to have done something to his lung, he was starting to struggle for air.

"I am not going to regret this. I promise. Now, let me help you." He gave me a long hard look, judging how serious I was. My hands took his and pulled him around the corner into a semi-standing position, his jaw clenching from the pain. Finally out of sight, he slumped to the ground instantly.

My hands flitting around, there was nowhere to touch that didn't seem to hurt him. Calm down. I said to myself. Think about this rationally. Yeah, as if I can do that.

I placed my hand on his shoulder, and started to feel my way around. I could see him squirming away.

"No, let me look." There was nothing I could do, but I needed to see how hurt he really was. I’d seen every season of Grey’s Anatomy, surely there was some knowledge in there? All I could see was the deep dark pool of blood that seemed to be dripping down his left arm, and the growing red stain on his chest.

Ryan groaned, and I took that as my queue. I unbuttoned his black shirt and peeled it off him, ever so slowly. That chest. It could be an ancient Greek statue. It was so perfect. His muscles were sinewy and catlike, strong and powerful. I could feel every muscle tense under my fingertips as I lightly dragged my fingers down the length of his chest. The black shirt was soaked, I tore off one of the bottom strips of fabric off my dress and pressed the wound up fabric into his shoulder wound. It seemed to be deepest. I could see the weariness in his face. With his shirt off, the full extent of the horrors of his childhood became obvious. I tried suppress the bile that rose in my throat. How could anyone do that?