Page 79 of Love in Pieces

?CHAPTER 30

Dallas

I’m not ready for thescene that unfolds when I pull up to my apartment. Abby’s bike sits parked in her normal spot. I spot a set of keys on the steps behind her bike at the same time I hear a cry from the far end of the parking lot. Sam stands over Abby like he’s looking at a piece of roadkill. Even from this far out, I can see the smile on his face like he’s proud of his handiwork as he kneels next to her. I pull up only a few feet from them causing Sam to twist around. My bike barely stops as I lay it down and jump from the seat. Sam scrambles across the concrete, taking safety inside his vehicle as he tears away from the scene, wheels squealing behind him. I barely have my helmet off as I get to where Abby lies. The pool of blood under her head is the first thing I see.

I look into her eyes, hoping to still see her conscious. I thank whatever Gods are watching when I see her chest rise and fall slowly, and life that still lives in her tear-filled eyes, but only just barely. I look around for anyone available and spot someone walking out of the building.

“Call 911!” I yell. “Call 911!”

The woman leaving the building sees the scene and quickly gets on the phone.

“Abby? Help is coming. I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.” The pool of blood is building. Instincts kick in. I pull off my sweatshirt, lift her head, and press the fabric to the spot that appears to be bleeding though I can’t tell where it’s coming from. Abby moans from the movement. She squeezes her eyes shut.

“I know. I’m sorry, but I have to stop the bleeding. Can you tell me what else hurts?” I look around at the rest of her for any other signs of major harm besides the cuts and bruises on her face and spot the forming bruises on her neck and arms. She takes a shaky breath and winces again. I lift her shirt slightly to see the bruising on her ribs.

“Where the fuck is the ambulance?” I yell at no one in particular.

The lady stands only a few feet away. “It’s coming. They should be here any second. Is she okay?” the lady asks, gripping her phone tightly.

What I really want to say to her is, “Of course she’s not okay. Do you see her?” but I say instead, “I hope so,” as calmly as I can. My voice shakes at the words as the real worry sets in. I’ve taken enough anatomy classes to know that much bruising on the ribs could be bad news. If there are broken ribs, which there’s almost no way there isn’t, one could have punctured a lung. There could be internal bleeding. Any number of things could be wrong in addition to the cracked skull.

I hear the sirens in the distance and breathe a sigh of relief as they pull up.

“What happened?” the paramedic asks as he jumps from the vehicle.

“Her ex-boyfriend happened. He beat the shit out of her.”

“Injuries?” he asks. He pulls the gurney over to us with a female paramedic in tow.

“I think she cracked her head open. I’ve got pressure on it but it’s still bleeding. There’s some bruising on her neck, arms, and ribs. She might have cracked a few of them because she winces when she breathes too deeply.” When I look back at her, her eyes are closed. Panic sets in. “Abby? Abby, stay with me, okay? I need you to wake up.” I shake her arm lightly, causing her eyelids to flutter open. “That’s it. Good. Stay awake for me, okay?”

“Keep pressure on her head for me. My name is Clara. What’s her name?” she asks me as the other paramedic preps the gurney.

“Abby,” I say quickly but correct myself. “Abigail Cooper. I don’t know her middle name.

She nods. “And who are you to her?”

“I uh,” I stutter, unsure of what to say. We hadn’t really gotten to talking about that part yet. “I’m Dallas. She’s my roommate.”

“Okay. We’re going to help her. Rafi’s going to load her up on the gurney and we’ll get her to the hospital,” she says as a cop arrives at the scene. Clara smiles at the officer who climbs out, a young guy, but he looks ready for anything. “Hey, Ben.”

“Hi, I’m Officer Ben Arnold. What do we got?” he asks, pulling out a notepad.

“Abigail Cooper. She and her ex-boyfriend got into it—”

“No, no, no. They didn’t 'get into it,'” I correct. “Her ex is abusive. He’s been beating her for months. She just got out of the relationship three weeks ago and moved in with me.” My heart races faster as I explain.

Clara nods as I do. “My apologies. This is Dallas, her roommate. Looks like a fractured skull and some bruising. Dallas says possibly some cracked ribs as well. He’s been keeping her awake. That’s all I’ve gotten so far.”

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