Page 15 of Unbind

‘Shit,’ she says. ‘Shit.’

No no no no. This is not happening.Fuck. The glassiness in her eyes, the sheen of sweat already forming on her forehead and upper lip, that very particular jerky, floppy flailing that is all too familiar and all too triggering.

I’d know it all a mile off.

‘Natalie,’ I say more forcefully than I mean to. I get to my knees in front of her and cup her face. It’s cold and clammy. ‘Natalie, can you hear me? Where’s your monitor? Do you have a monitor?’ I turn to Gen, who’s frozen in shock. ‘Does she have a monitor?’

‘Yes.’ She looks Natalie up and down frantically. ‘Oh, it’s on her arm.’

I release her face and run my hands up both her arms. Yep. The fabric of the patch hits my fingertips. There it is. It doesn’t matter really. I don’t need a monitor to tell me she’s hypo.

She had a big handbag on her when she walked in. It’s by her feet, and it’s open. I grab it with one arm and shake it out, emptying its contents all over the sofa next to her. With the other hand, I pin Natalie’s shoulder to the sofa. She’s flailing more, jerking harder, her hands fluttering ineffectually, trying to slap me away.

‘Phone.’ I hand it to Gen. ‘Try to get into her glucose monitor,’ I bark. ‘It should be linked.’

She takes it, and I look for long enough to note that she’s trying to get Natalie to unlock it with face recognition. ‘Natalie,’ I say firmly.‘Natalie.Help Gen to unlock your phone. We need it.’

‘I’m in,’ Gen says shakily. ‘Um, let me see—okay. Freestyle Libre. That sounds like it.’

‘Good.’ I continue to rummage among the contents of Natalie’s bag as I support her. I’m shaking too, my body flooded with adrenaline and dread and God knows what else. There’s an opened wrap thingy from Pret, but that won’t cut it. Nor will the Snickers bar—there’s no way she’ll be able to chew it.

‘Do you have juice?’ I practically shout at Gen. I’m asking too many things of her at once, I know I am. But I need everything now. I need Nat’s numbers. I need some form of fast-acting glucose.

‘I think so. Hang on.’ She stands, her face still on the phone. ‘Got it. Is this bad?’

She turns the phone around and shows me the display.Two-point-two with a downwards arrow showing that her glucose levels are still dropping.Natalie, you stupid, irresponsible girl.‘Get me that juice,’ I tell Gen shortly, and she runs towards the double doors separating this room from her team’s office.

Natalie’s getting more agitated. ‘Fuck off,’ she slurs, the words less clear than her disquiet. ‘Fuck you. Devil. Hate you.’

‘I know,’ I tell her. Even if she didn’t loathe me, this kind of hostility, this irritability, is very standard in someone who’s hypo. Ellen used to hit me with her tiny fists. ‘I know. You hate me, but right now you’ve got to let me help you. Okay?’

‘No,’ she whimpers, clawing at my hand on her shoulder, trying ineffectually to swipe it away. She’s crying, tears pouring down her face, her mascara a smeary black chaser. I can’t bear this. It’s fucking splitting me open, seeing her like this. Watching history repeat itself. Where is the fucking juice? I scrabble around her belongings. Surely she’s got some sweets, or some gummies or something?—

Glycogel.

Bingo.

We never had this for Ellen, but I know what it is. I need to get it into her. If this doesn’t work, I’m giving her five minutes before calling nine-nine-nine. She’s twisting and turning, and I don’t want to make her any more distraught than she already is, but my priority is getting some glucose into her to offset that surplus insulin in her system.

I unscrew the cap and squeeze a large mound onto my shaking finger. ‘Natalie, open your mouth for me. I need to give you some gel.’

She arches back, shifting forward on the sofa, the heel of her stiletto grazing my wool-covered thigh as she does. I spythe black lace tops of her fishnet stockings and quickly avert my gaze back to the job at hand, because now is not the time to ogle, and God knows, this beautiful, irresponsible woman isnotgoing to get any more ill on my watch.

She’s still mumbling, but it’s growing less coherent by the second. Her lips are wet with saliva, her cheeks slick with tears and her nose running. My nose is running too. Odd. I sniff hard, gripping her jaw hard with my free hand and sliding my finger in sideways, rubbing the gel over her upper gum as best I can while she thrashes about.

‘There you go,’ I croon. ‘Good girl.’Please work please work please work.I’ve never used this stuff before. I don’t know how much is enough, but I’m going to err on the side of caution and give her some more, unless?—

Gen appears in the doorway. ‘Juice.’

Thank fuck. I release Natalie’s jaw. ‘Grip her head as firmly as you can,’ I order, holding my arm out for the juice. She comes up behind the sofa and cradles Natalie’s face in both hands. ‘Harder,’ I bark. I may even shout it. ‘Hold her as still as you can.’

I raise the juice to her mouth and tip the glass to pour a little in. She splutters and spits it right back out, some of it landing on me.

‘Fuck’s sake, sweetheart,’ I groan. ‘I need to get this into you, okay? You’ve got to be brave. I’ve got you. We’ve got you. You need to let us help you.’

I try again. Most of it dribbles down her chin, but I get a little in. I swipe the rest off her chin with my hand. This is fucking hopeless—the gel’s a better option, clearly.

‘Keep hold of her,’ I tell Gen and grab the tube again, smearing another line of gel onto my finger. Into her mouth I go, rubbing back and forth as thoroughly as I can in anattempt to get it absorbed. I have no idea how quickly this stuff works.

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