Page 71 of Pretend for Me

My breathing went haywire, panic gripping me, and I couldn’t focus. “Matthew, please,” I pleaded over and over, desperate for him to wake up, for him to not leave me now that we’d found our way back to one another.

Charlie peeked inside the room, taking in the scene. The teenage girl stood there wide-eyed, and her body trembled as she took in the scene of both of us coated in blood.

This couldn’t be happening.

I tried performing CPR, wishing I’d paid more attention in the class Bridget made her employees take.

This was no use. Matthew needed an ambulance.

“Charlie, what the hell are you doing?” I stared at Charlotte who was frozen by the door, looking everywhere but at the horrific sight in front of her.

“Charlotte! For the love of God, call 911!” I shrieked, the veins bulging from my neck.

“R-Right. Right,” Charlie stuttered, pulling out her phone to call the paramedics.

I noticed Charlie’s remorseful face, but I didn’t have time to ponder if she was feeling guilty for dragging me to get bagels or something else as Matthew's hand jolted in my own. I didn’t know if it was a good or bad sign.

I squeezed his hand tightly as tears blurred my vision. “Matty, please, baby, don’t leave me. I just got you back. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” I pleaded to him. To God. To the universe. To anyone who would helpmyMatthew get through this.

It was a blur of EMTs, ambulances, and police.

Matthew was pulled onto a gurney, and I rushed to be with him.

The police walked through the apartment, taking pictures and investigating the scene, hunting for evidence of who had broken in and caused so much harm.

37

CASSIE

Ianxiously paced the hospital waiting room. Charlotte just watched and bit her lip. In the far corner, Holden and Bridget huddled together, talking softly to one another.

Quite a change from an hour ago…

I shoved my way to the nurses’ station, not giving a damn who was in front of me and what their ailment was.

“Matthew Adams,” I stammered, my hand tapping the desk.

“Are you family?” the nurse asked, a stoic look on her face.

“Yes. He’s … he’s …” I let out a shaky breath. “He’s my husband.”

The nurse’s composed face fell when she heard this come from my mouth. What crossed her face next was a look filled with sadness, pity, and sympathy.

“Honey, I’ll get Doctor Torres for you,” the nurse gently assured.

Soon I was led to the side where terms I didn’t quite understand were thrown at me. More looks of pity overtook the faces of those around me. Until finally panic took hold.

I collapsed right there on the hospital floor. I was a puddle of despair and agony as the young surgeon told me about Matthew’s condition.

Matthew had been shot in the stomach. The bullet grazed his triad, the veins and arteries which supply blood to the liver. Dr. Torres was now operating on Matthew. When he had come out to tell me what was going on, right before I had fainted, he advised me just how serious it all was.

“Major surgery.”

“Lost a ton of blood.”

“Could cut off circulation and cause paralysis.”

I stopped listening after that.

---