Page 250 of Disarm
“I’ve got you,” I mutter. “I’ve got you, baby. Stay with me. Stay with me.”
There’s blood on my fingers now, sticky and half-dried. The cut on his wrist is shallow, thank God, more a panic line than a real attempt. The pills—the pills are the main thing.
“How bad is the bleeding?” the operator asks.
“Not… not a lot,” I say, swallowing hard. “It’s like. A cut across old ones. It’s—there’s blood, but it’s not—” I wrench my own mind away from the image. “It’s not gushing or anything.”
“Good,” he says. “We’ll focus on the ingestion. What kind of pills are they? Can you read the bottle to me?”
I snatch the orange bottle from the nightstand, nearly drop it, fumble, and catch it. The label swims in front of my eyes for a second before I force it into focus.
Reading out the name, the dosage, the ‘take one at bedtime as needed.’ Insomnia meds.
Of course.
We should have thrown them out when we argued about them.
“Do you know approximately how many were left?” the operator asks.
My mind flashes to the last time I’d counted. “There were… like ten? Maybe twelve? I don’t… I don’t know if he took all of them. The bottle’s on its side, there’s a few on the bed. I don’t?—”
“That’s okay,” he says. “You’re doing great. Paramedics are en route. Do you have anyone else in the house with you?”
“No,” I say. “Just me. Just… just him and me.” My voice cracks again.
Somewhere under the panic, a furious little voice is screaming,Fuck net-thinking. I am the line. I am the fucking line.
“Okay,” the operator says. “Stay with him. Talk to him. If he stops breathing or you can’t feel a pulse, tell me immediately. I’ll walk you through CPR.”
“He’s breathing,” I say quickly. “He’s… he’s breathing. His heart’s—” I shove my hand against his chest, feeling for the thump.
There.
Weak, too slow for an athlete, but there.
“Come on, baby,” I whisper, leaning down so my forehead touches his. “You can’t leave. Not like this. Not now. You hear me?”
His skin is clammy.
His breathing hitches, then continues.
There’s a sound in the distance. Faint at first, then growing. Sirens.
“Sirens?” the operator asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah. I hear them.”
“They’re for you,” he says. “Go open the door so they can get in. Take your phone with you. Don’t hang up.”
“I’m not leaving him,” I snap, the thought of walking away making my entire body rebel.
“Just for a moment,” he says. “You’ll hear them in the hall. Prop the door open and come straight back. They need access. Caleb needs them to have access.”
He’s right.
Fuck, he’s right.
I scoop the phone up with shaking fingers, lean in and kiss Caleb’s hair. “Don’t move,” I whisper, absurd even as I say it. “I’ll be right back.”
