Page 10 of Pocketful of Shame

"Shh." Sniffling, I leaned close and pressed a kiss to his forehead. His face was so mangled that I could hardly make out his eyes. "You'll be okay." Shaking, I reached for my phone that I had dropped and quickly dialed 911. "I'm gonna fix this."

"Don’t." Gasping for air, Chris smacked the phone out of my hand. "No cops."

"Are you crazy?" I practically screamed. "You're dying!"

"I know," he whispered, attempting to breathe through his nose, only to splutter and cough. "It's okay."

"It's not okay, Chris," I cried out harshly. "None of this is okay." Blood. There was so much blood. All over him. Pouring out of his body. "Oh god," I sobbed as my gaze roamed over him. "What did those monsters do to you?" My eyes landed on his left hip and I paled as thick oozy blood gushed from the wound. "They shot you, Chris," I whispered, trembling. "Chris, you've been shot." The shirt he was wearing was soaked through with blood. His jeans were the same. It was literally leaking from every part of him. "Oh my god, you're bleeding out."

"I know," he panted. "The car. Help me get in."

"But, Chris –"

"Do it, Romi!" he snarled, chest rising and falling quickly. "Fucking do what you're told for once in your life, dammit!"

"Okay," I cried. "Don’t shout at me. I'm scared."

"I know, babe," he wheezed and the rattling noise coming from deep in his chest terrified me to my core. "Just do this for me."

Completely bewildered, I unlocked the car and helped Chris off the ground. It took several attempts, but I finally managed to hoist him into the passenger seat.

"Okay," I sniffled, climbing into the driver's seat. "What now?"

"Drive," he instructed, hunched sideways in the seat.

"Wh-what?" My eyes widened in horror. "You know I can't drive for shit. I'm bad, Chris. I'm not good –"

"Put your seatbelt on and drive the damn car," he cut me off, panting and wheezing. "Do it now, Romi!"

"Okay!" Sniffling, I quickly fastened my seatbelt and jammed the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life and a sob tore through me. "I n-need to get you to a h-hospital." Switching on the windshield wipers, I gripped the wheel tightly and blinked away the tears clouding my vison. "That's what we're g-gonna do, okay?"

"No." He shook his head. "You need to drive. Just drive, babe."

"No," I sobbed. "I need to get you to a doctor."

"I'm a dead man," he breathed. "I am. Whether I go to a hospital or not. I'm a dead man walking, Romi. They'll find me and they'll end me."

"No…" I couldn’t stop the tears from scalding my cheeks. "What do you need from me?"

"Drive," he instructed weakly.

"Where to?"

"Pocketful."

"But you said to get out of –"

"I know what I said," he gurgled and then coughed loudly. "But they know. They fucking know. And now you've gotta do this."

"Do what?" I demanded, hysterical now. "Know what? Oh my god, you're gonna die," I screamed, veering recklessly between traffic until the lights of the city were behind us. "I need to get you help and I'm going the wrong way!"

"It's okay. It's my own… fault," he ground out, wheezing. "You gotta be…brave for me now."

"Chris, what did you do?" I sobbed, gripping the wheel tightly as I cried hard and ugly. "Who were those men? What are you involved in?"

"It's not me," he breathed. "It's them."

"Them?" I shook my head. "Who's them?"

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