Page 132 of The Assignment: Room 3

Paramedics rush to where I sit with the love of my life, trying to keep pressure on his wounds. Their eyes stray to where Michael lies dead, his face unrecognizable.

“Ma’am…” one says in a low, measured voice, “… can you let me assess him?”

Blood oozes between my fingers. “He just stopped breathing. I didn’t know whether to do CPR or keep my hands on the wound.” My voice is a strangled plea for a miracle.

One of the paramedics lays his hands over mine with caution. “You can take your hands off. I’ve got him. My partner is going to check for a pulse.”

“I…” I rack my brain for anything I can say to help. “I heard your sirens. He was still breathing when I heard you coming.”

“Great. You did well…”

“Helena. My name is Helena. His name is Flex. He’s my boyfriend.” It sounds so stupid. He is so much more to me.

“Okay. Let me and my partner help Flex.” He replaces my hands with his as I slump back onto my haunches and burst into tears. Dropping my head in my hands, the wet warmth of Flex’s blood smears on my face. I’m going to lose him.

The other paramedic checks for a pulse. “No pulse. Starting compressions.”

“Helena, we need to get you checked out.” I don’t answer. I don’t even register. I haven’t been called by my real name in four years. “Helena…”

“I’m fine. He saved me.”

“Okay. You have multiple injuries. I’m going to have another ambulance come and take you to the hospital.”

“Just save him. I don’t care about me.”

He looks to his partner. “Anything?”

“Still no pulse.”

“No… don’t you do this to me, Flex Navarro. You made me love you, goddammit!”

They work together, trying to give him a fighting chance.

“Helena, we need to move him. I have to get the gurney. Can you apply pressure again? Just the way you were.”

“Why isn’t he breathing?” I feel physically sick. This can’t be happening. We just found each other. We were supposed to grow old together.

“Helena, look at me.” I can’t tear my eyes away from Flex’s chest and the distinct lack of movement. “Look at me. We’re going to do everything we can to save your boyfriend.”

Pulling myself together, I get up onto my knees—a position I gladly take for my Master, never thinking for one second that it would come to this—and put all of my weight onto my hands, hoping like hell that I can stop the inevitable.

“Good. I’ll be right back.”

It feels like an eternity as I watch the other paramedic administer compressions, fighting like hell to get his heart to beat. The warmth of his blood on my hands is a stark juxtaposition to the cold dread coursing through my veins.

Please, don’t leave me.

Us.

Our daughter.

Weneedyou.

There’s a loud noise ricocheting off the walls of my meager home. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s ear-piercing.

“You can let go now.” A hand rests on my shoulder. The noise stops. and I realize it was coming from me.

“I can’t. The bleeding won’t stop.”

---