Page 89 of Never Give Up

“Paul! Get an ambulance here now!”

With shaking hands, I feel the side of her neck for a pulse, beyond careful with my fingers touching her, terrified to hurt her any more.

I can’t find any signs of life, and panic begins to eat at my mind.

I can’t breathe.

“Damn it, no.” My words are a plea. “You’re not going to do this to me. Not again.”

I drag her off the bed and onto the floor, making sure that there’s nothing underneath her. I have to be able to do something.

She’s dead.

And just like that, it’s not only Maya I’m seeing, but the boys’ mother, too.

Eerily similar, with wounds on her arms.

Taken from a bed, with no signs of life.

The only difference?

The only difference that matters…

The one that keeps me from breaking down, is that Maya didn’t do this to herself.

The boys lost their mother to her own actions. Taking her own life.

Maya?

Maya would never give up without a fight.

By instinct alone, I find myself giving the love of my life CPR. My hands find her breastbone and start to pump hard and fast. I count out loud, and the men I call my brothers come to my side. Paul pushes me out of the way after a few silence-filled minutes, and when I stop, I hear something devastatingly sweet come from Maya’s lips.

“Did she just groan?” I stutter, and then my fingers brush blood-soaked hair away from her face.

“Yeah, I got a weak pulse. She’s alive. Barely, but she’s a fighter.” Paul has a hand on the side of her throat, and I put one hand in front of her nose.

A small puff of air hits my palm.

“She’s breathing. She’s breathing.” I put my head in my hands and just let myself cry. She’s going to be okay. She has to be okay. I promised to bring her back.

“The ambulance is on the way.”

I can tell that Paul is watching me, waiting for a response. But I don’t care about anything. Nothing else matters except making sure that Maya is alive.

Maya is alive, and Andrew is going to pay.

“Good,” I manage to say and then go back to looking at the woman I love and praying that she isn’t about to die again.

Paul picks up a towel from the floor and wraps it around Maya’s arm, trying to get some of the blood cleaned up, and I see the word he carved into her flesh.

Kismet, the same word that had been painted on her door, is staring me in the face, and I can feel the rage building until there’s nothing left but the fire of my rage.

I lean over and brush the rest of the hair out of Maya’s face, leaving a streak of red in its place, and the realization of what has happened hits me.

I might have saved her, but there’s no guarantee that what I did will be enough.

Because while I’m sitting there, waiting for her to open her eyes, her heart stops beating again.

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