“Start compressions,” he says calmly. How the hell he can he be so calm while I’m freaking out?
“Holly,” I plead, pumping her chest eight counts before blowing my breath into her body. “Don’t you die,” I yell between breaths, remembering the feeling of loss and never wanting to have to live through it again.
“Don’t you dare die.” The words repeat over, and over as I pump her heart, begging it to start. “Don’t you dare die…”
CHAPTER NINE
Holly
“Don’t you dare die,” Sy’s panic-laced words play over in my head. Die? What does it mean to die? Would the pain and the emptiness growing inside of me cease to exist? Would death be better? I wished the darkness that had crept behind my eyes in that old barn would come back to me and blanket me. I want to cry, to scream, but my throat is numb, my heart heavy and belly vacant.
“Holly, Sy’s here to see you.” My mom’s voice breaks through my distant stare.
“I don’t want to see anyone.” I look up and realize silent tears are falling from her tired eyes and I know I’ve caused them. My mom has always been beautiful. Her flawless skin and perfectly sitting hair was one of the things I admired when growing up. Standing before me now¸ I realize that woman is long gone. Worry lines that were never there fill her forehead and run down around her sad eyes. I know she hasn’t left me for more than a few hours in the last two weeks and she’s no doubt exhausted, but it hasn’t stopped me from being difficult.
“Holly,” she says again, breaking through the haze surrounding me.
“What?” I snap, over talking about Sy.
“He has sat outside your room every day for the last two weeks,” she informs me; her tone speaks of disapproval. She thinks I’m rude. Maybe I am, but I can’t bear to see him right now.
“Just don’t push it,” I whisper, hating myself for putting her through this.
“Do you really mean what you just said, about death?” she whispers, throwing me off for a moment. We were talking about Sy and now death? “You were mumbling while you were sitting there,” she explains when she sees the confused look on my face.
“No, Mom,” I lie, not knowing what I mean anymore. “I was just thinking aloud,” I tell her, hoping she believes me.
“Have you been talking to the grief counselor when they’ve stopped by?”
“Mom, I promise I’m fine.”
“Okay, good. Then tell Sy yourself. Tell him you don’t want to see him, and maybe he will listen to you.” I hold in the initial panic, hoping the steps the doctor taught me last week will help me through this moment.
“I’m not telling him anything, Mom.”
“You will be,” Sy’s voice interrupts mine, and instantly I’m taken back to the place I’m trying desperately to forget.
“No,” I manage to get out before my chest tightens as confusion clouds my mind. It’s like a sudden and terrible awareness of the world around me—like I’m watching myself from a distance.
I struggle to catch my breath; each pull of air stretches out my heart.
“Holly?” I hear my mom’s faint voice, but I’m too taken in the moment. My hand goes to my chest; the overwhelming feeling to run burns through me. If I could just get out of this room, maybe I could breathe.
“Holly,” Sy’s deep murmur anchors me to the bed. The man that tailspins me into a panic, now has the calming effect I need.
“Deep breaths.” The timbre of his voice is soft and controlled. “Focus on me,” he instructs as I clutch hard at my hospital gown. “You’re safe. Nothing is going to hurt you.” His words slowly chase the intense pain away. “Close your eyes.” He continues to take control of the situation and my body listens. Closing my eyes, I continue with my breathing exercises and soon the sensation of my world spinning slows as the numbness separates me from reality. I stay in it, not caring if I ignore the world.
“Good girl,” my mom finally says, reminding me she too just witnessed another of my panic attacks. I block it out. Worrying about it will probably set me off again. Instead, I focus on the slow rhythm of my deep breathing. To the room, I look as though I’ve returned, coming back calmly after what just transpired, but to me, I return with a piece of my sanity missing. My body feels heavy and my head foggy. After five minutes of silence, I build up enough courage to open my eyes.
“Welcome back,” Sy says first, and I can’t bring myself to look his way.
“Please go,” I plead, feeling the tears start to fall.
“Don’t make me go,” he replies and the anguish in his voice makes me want to cave, to let him stay, but I can’t even look at him.
“Please,” I repeat, turning away from him and protecting myself under the itchy hospital blanket.
“Holly—” my mom pleads, but I cut her off.
“I can’t do this with him here,” I tell her honestly. Just knowing he witnessed my meltdown has my chest tightening again.
“I don’t want to go, but I will,” he finally replies after moments of silence. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Don’t,” I say, knowing I won’t want to see him tomorrow.
“I will and I will wait outside this door until you see me, Holly,” he warns, his tone telling me he means every word of his threat, but I don’t reply. There’s no point. The room is quiet, but I don’t chance a look. I need him gone. After a few more minutes, I hear the door click shut, but at his exit, I realize the heaviness in my heart doesn’t leave, the gunshot wound to my stomach doesn’t stop throbbing, and the darkness I crave never takes me.