Page 86 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

Chapter Thirty-Four

William

Bright lights, the sound of something loud, something so piercing, William wanted to make it stop. Just make it stop. Oh, my god. His head ached. No, his brain ached. His brain pulsed inside his skull and in a moment, it was going to burst. He tried to lift his head, tried to roll onto one side, anything. Even trying to speak seemed impossible. His lips felt fat, puffy.

Blood, he tasted blood. Something warm and wet ran down his face from his nose. He tried to lift his hand to feel what it was, but something stopped him.

“You’re okay. What’s your name, mate?” someone said from beside him. No, from above him.

William tried to turn his head into the direction of the voice, but something was stopping him, something thick around his neck. His body ached, everything ached. He let his eyes close and let the voice drift away into some distant place. He couldn't even remember what he was doing or why he was here.

“Rosie,” William said, but it was hard to speak, and the man above him didn’t seem to be able to understand what he was saying. It was a blur; a big black blur William couldn’t understand. His body shook, something sharp started in his chest and he started to take a deep breath, but even that made pain lance through his body.

There was definitely blood in his mouth. The tinny taste … metallic. But the more he tasted it, the colder he got. Like the two things were connected.

So many hands. Like many someones pulled at him from every side. If he could just sit up, just speak to them and get himself out of here, but his body began to shake. He shook so much that his shoulders felt tense, and something in his belly sent fiery pain through him.

“He’s going into shock,” someone said. Not the man. Not anyone. Maybe it was a voice inside his head. All he seemed to be able to hear was the sound of metal on metal, gravel, the sound of a horn. They played over and over in his head like a record that wouldn’t stop.

“Can you tell me your name?” someone else said.

“Where …”

“You’ve been in an accident. Can you tell me your name?”

Could he?

He could.

It was there. The name. The word, like a whisper caught in his mouth. Like something that wouldn’t come out. He wanted to say it, but the way of getting his mouth to move, or even his throat to make the sounds he needed. He pressed his lips together trying to get the W sound out, but when he did, he coughed, and pain exploded across his abdomen.

He went to move. Someone grabbed his arm, slid their hand into his, stopping him.

“Rosie,” he said again.

“Rosie? Is she …”

He mouthed the word girlfriend, but the sound didn’t come with it. He coughed when he tried again. Deep heaves that made everywhere hurt now. His head swam, his vision went to something blurry and the sounds all around him seemed to fade into one long incessant thing that wouldn’t stop. Like a hum in his eardrum that he couldn’t make stop.

“I ... need ... to ... see ... Rosie,” his words came out as a long slur. He tried to push the air out to speak, but it was like he didn’t have enough in him. If he could just move and get up.

"We'll call Rosie."

“We’re going to move you now, okay?” the same woman said.

Move him? No. He pushed at her with his arm, tried to shake her off, but she was like a snake holding his hand. He couldn’t fight them. He felt himself being lifted. Like he’d suddenly got weightless. Someone was above him, someone near his head, someone near his feet. Other people, other faces and then more lights. Brighter this time.

It seemed that every time he closed his eyes and opened them again, there was something new.

Now it was the crackle of radios, like the radios the police use, with the beeps and the speaking. And someone saying, over, after they had spoken, but then someone else reeling off numbers and street names.

It was so hard to grasp anything. Maybe his brain had gone to sleep somehow, and it wasn’t processing everything.

William blinked, but when he opened his eyes again … a second later. It had to be a second later, something was different. Something was … the ceiling. It was moving too fast. A blur of lights above him.

He turned his head, tried to get into his pocket to get his phone. Maybe Rosie had replied to him. Maybe she’d called him. His wrist caught on something and holy shit … fucking hell, pain seared every part of him, ripping through him like he was on fire. He let out a sound, not that he had any idea what it was.

The lights above him slowed down. Someone had his hand again. So many people spoke. None of them to him.

He let his eyes close and the pain went away.

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