Page 57 of Seven Lost Summers
And then she crumples.
Her knees give first, the rest of her body following, collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut. Her arms hang loose at her sides, head tipping forward as gravity drains the strength from her, folding her into something broken and small.
She hits the floor in slow motion, limbs twisted beneath her—a ragdoll dropped by careless hands.
One moment she’s standing, vibrant and laughing. The next, she’s on the ground.
Silent.
Still.
Terrifyingly fragile.
I move before my brain can catch up.
My knees slam the floor, pain shooting up my legs, but I don’t feel it. My hands find her arms, her face, anywhere I can touch, anywhere I can prove she’s still here, still breathing.
“Bianca,” I choke, my voice shaking. “Hey, Bianca, come on. Talk to me. Fuck, say something.”
Her eyes flutter open, slow and unsteady, lashes trembling as she looks up at me. Her gaze is clouded, unfocused, searching my face as if I’m a stranger. Her lips part, moving without sound, words trapped somewhere deep in her throat.
She gasps, shallow and uneven, her chest rising and falling too fast.
Under the harsh store lights her skin looks too pale, sweat gathering on her forehead, dark hair plastered to her temple. She looks fragile, nothing like the fierce, vibrant girl who was laughing with me only moments ago.
Her eyes slide shut again, as if sleep is pulling her under.
“Bianca!” My voice cracks apart, panic tearing through it. I whip around, vision blurring, heart slamming in my throat. “Somebody help us! Please, someone!”
Shadows shift around me, voices muffled at first, then suddenly closer, urgent footsteps rushing in.
A woman shouts, cutting through my panic: “Oh my God, someone call the paramedics!”
Another voice echoes, already on the phone, words spilling too fast—an ambulance, an address, everything sounding impossibly far away.
Footsteps close in, bodies pressing closer.
A store clerk drops to her knees, hovering at Bianca’s side, eyes wide, hands trembling as she reaches out but hesitates.
“Is she breathing?” another voice demands, sharp and tight with fear.
“Yes!” I shout, but it tears out of me half a sob, my throat raw with terror. “I—I don’t know what’s happening, she just collapsed… I don’t know—”
My voice shatters, choking off, tears spilling down my cheeks, blinding me as I clutch Bianca’s hand, my fingers trembling violently.
“I’m right here,” I whisper fiercely, squeezing her hand tighter, as if I could force my strength, my life, into her.
Around us, people move frantically—phones pressed to ears, voices raised, panic swirling.
I can’t breathe.
I’m trapped here, gripping Bianca’s hand, waiting, begging for her eyes to open again, for her lips to move, for the wail of sirens to cut through this suffocating silence.
I’ve been standing on Nate’s front porch for twenty minutes.
The wood creaks under my shoes when I shift my weight, but I still can’t lift my hand to knock.
I just stare at the door.
