Page 24 of Riot Act

“Goddamnit, Chase. Donotdie while I’ve got hands on you. I donotneed your friends blaming me for this shit.”

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

They say the compressions are more important than the rescue breaths these days. That the blood holds enough oxygen in it to suffice while you’re performing CPR. I’m not sure I’m doing it right, though, so I stop a second. I tilt her head back, quickly peer inside to make sure she hasn’t swallowed her own tongue, and then I pinch her nose and plant my mouth on hers. Two hasty breaths. That’s all I give her. Then I’m back to the compressions.

“For fuck’s sake,HELP!”I taste blood and worry that I’ve torn up my throat, but then I realize with no small amount of horror that the blood on my tongue belongs to my classmate; her lips are smeared crimson red with it.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

“Come on. Come on. Come back. You can do it. You got this, Chase.It’s okay. It’s okay. You got this.” The words spill out, tumbling one after the other, not making sense. I should pray, but I don’t know how. I refused to pay attention all of those times Meredith dragged me to church. All I’ve got is this meaningless, mumbled encouragement. Not that it helps. Pres is lifeless, her head rocking left to right as I press down on her ribs.

Nothing.

No response whatsoever.

Which is not ideal, because Ineedthis girl to fucking live.

“Come on, for fuck’s sake. Breathe. Breathe right fucking now!”

As if on command, Presley’s eyelids flutter, and her consciousness comes flooding back. She was gone, no trace of her left inside this bleeding, broken body, but I can feel her rushing back in now. It’s the weirdest sensation. She opens her eyes…and blinks…right as her ribs crack beneath my hands. Her pupils narrow to pinpricks. Her mouth opens, and she unleashes a scream so loud it rattles the stars.

Holy god damn.

I can’t imagine the pain. The terrible wounds at her wrists are bad enough, but fuck. I just broke at least two of her ribs. She must be in agony.

How many times have I seen Pres at the academy? Never in the foreground. Always just off to one side, standing a couple of feet behind her friends, always blushing, always tucking her hair back behind her ears, always staring down at her feet. Her freckles are pretty. She squeaks like a mouse when I talk to her. I know of all this about her. It isn’t until now, when she’s soaked in blood, her back arching away from the sidewalk, her eyes wide and full of pain, that I feel like I’m truly seeing the real her, though.

And she’s kind of fucking beautiful.

The CPR exhausted me. That’s what I tell myself as I sink back onto my heels, away from her, watching as she rolls her eyes, writhing on the ground. Breathing.Alive.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Wait here. I’ll get help.”

Fuckingwait here?Where the hell is she gonna go, moron?

I scoot back, ready to make a run for the door, but her pale hand grabs me by the wrist, holding me with surprising strength. It has to hurt, must be agonizing actually, to hold onto me with such force, her wrists being as mangled as they are. But she holds me tight.

Her amber eyes are alive with fear.

She doesn’t speak—can’t?—but she slowly shakes her head.

No.

Please don’t go.

“It’s okay. The door’s right there. I’ll only be a second.”

Again, she shakes her head. It’s all she can manage. Her fingers uncurl, releasing me, but I hear her pleading in my head as loud as if she’d managed to get the words out.

No. Don’t go. Don’t leave me. I’m scared.

Blowing out an exasperated breath, I chew on the inside of my cheek. How the hell am I supposed to do this? I shouldn’t move her, I know that much, but her wounds seem to be limited to the slashes on the inside of her wrists. I don’tthinkshe has internal bleeding. And I can’t leave her here, I just can’t. Not when she’s looking at me like this.