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Istare up at darkened gray smudges threatening the sky, the cold metal of the truck bed radiating through me. Blackness circles like a predator hunting its prey.
We’re the prey.
A low rumble pulses through the air. The roaring of blood rushing to my head the only competition, and then stillness envelopes me. Everything is saturated, the dirt, the grass a rich golden brown, blood on me, crimson against black.
I don’t remember them leaving. I don’t. I remember dying inside. Dying is exactly what it feels like when Grayson falls face first into the dirt.
I think, maybe, I pass out. I’m not sure, but the pounding in my head is blinding.
When they’re gone, I somehow make my way over to him. In the seconds I have between unconscious and conscious, something inside me pushes me forward, scrambling through the mud. My knees giving out again and I collapse next to him. My arms and legs too weak to support me, and they don’t, they can’t.
That’s my first clear sight of Grayson. He’s face down in the mud, his head slightly twisted to the right, his arms to his sides. I hesitate to touch him. I rest my hand on his back, his body hot,his shirt soaked in water. Screaming as loud as I can, I hold him. It’s all I can do because I can’t even bring myself to see if he has a pulse.
When I roll him over, everything is in slow motion, my mind unable to comprehend anything aside from blood.
Hisblood.
He’s completely covered in it. At first, I avert my eyes because seeing him so badly beaten is sickening.
Sobbing into his chest, I hold his head in my hands and I cry so hard, so loud, that my body shakes uncontrollably and his head falls from my hands to the ground. Blood pours from the gash on the side of his head and over my hands. It pulses out of him, mixing with the water, pooling on the ground. But I can’t make myself react. I stare at my fingers, the red, so much red.
A gurgled noise leaves his lips, his head lolls to the side, my indication he’s still alive, for now.
I cry for help, scream with everything I have, and even then, I know it’s not enough. No one can hear me. I’m completely alone.
Aware of the fact that I’m naked, I look up, trying to see how far the road is from us but I can’t see anything with the tears in my eyes.
The sky rumbles in the distance, the rain easing as Grayson’s body moves in my hands and I snap my eyes to his. “Grayson?”
“E-e-e-ev-v-v-v-ie?” he groans, trying to move. He gets his legs bent, his feet flat against the ground but can’t lift his upper body. He mumbles something, a grunt, I’m not sure, but then he twists in pain, vomiting all over me and the ground.
And then he’s limp, his body completely still, his breathing wispy and weak.
“Oh my God, Grayson. It’s okay. I got you.” I press my lips to his face. “Please stay with me…. I got you. I’m not leaving you.” Rocking him back and forth, I tell him this, over and over again. “I love you… I love you….”
He moves again when I touch his face, moaning, and tries tomove away from me. I grab him and make him stay still. His breathing is jagged, as if he can’t draw in a breath fully. “M-m-my… h-h-h-head…” His words are severely slurred and he vomits again. This time there’s blood.
“I know, baby.” I rub my hand to his chest. “I know. I’m so sorry!” I have to get him help or he’s going to die. Fear suffocates me, but I know his life is in my hands now.
My eyes scan the field we’re in, searching for anything I can use to help us. But I have no cell phone, no clothes, and I’m not sure I can get him inside his truck to move him. He was heavy before, and now, it’d be impossible.
With my hands clutching his soaked shirt, I scream out again. “Help!”
I wish Frankie was here. She’d know what to do, how to help him. How to get us to the road. I kiss his hands, his bloody face and lips, tell him I love him as much as I can. If this is the end, he needs to know. If by chance he’s still alive, those are the last words I want him to hear.
It’s hard to describe the pain you feel when you know you’ve lost everything you love, but this, this is as close to hell as I can get.
“Grayson, please hang on. I’ll get help!”
He moans, but no words. Just blood on his lips and pooling in his mouth. I listen to his breathing; it’s low, strained, a wheezing sound I can’t shake, but it’s at least there.
I try to apply pressure to his head but the blood still gushes through my wet fingertips.
Time and life are irrelevant now. The seconds could have been hours, or mere minutes, I’m not sure. I repeat their names in my head, memorizing every detail of this brutal attack because they will pay. Every single one of them. They will not get away with this.
48
EVIE