Page 95 of Meet Me in the Vines
“Son? Donovan? Oh, god. No, please!” Caleb wails, his hands grasping Donovan’s. I apply firm pressure on his wound, my tears falling on their own accord. Caleb’s screams are raw, emitted from the deepest parts of his soul. I close my eyes for a moment, feeling my breath shudder as my hands tremble over Donovan’s chest.
“Caleb, call 911. He’s okay,” I say calmly, staring deep into those ocean blues. “Come on, baby. Stay with me.”
“My son! I can’t lose another son! God, please!” Caleb sobs, heavy and heartbreaking. The walls surrounding me threaten to close in, but I don’t let it. As badly as I want to take Donovan and sink beneath the ground, erasing what just happened—I can’t. I need to save him. Like he saved me.
Twice. God damn it, Donovan.
I can’t keep my hands from shaking as they push on Donovan’s chest. His eyes stay locked on mine as he struggles to breathe. I turn to Caleb as his gut-wrenching wails vibrate off the walls.
“Caleb, call 911 right now. He’s alright,” I reassure, my eyes darting back to Donovan. The blood pools around his body rapidly. My eyes bulge at the sight. His breaths are shallow, and he’s fading quickly. Caleb frantically dials 911 and screams into the phone, pleading with the operator to get someone here quickly.
I push one hand firmly on his wound and the other through his chocolate locks. His head rests peacefully in my lap as I stroke his hair. I love threading my fingers through his hair, like the very first night he kissed me in the gazebo. The first night we touched.
“Hey baby, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. Help is on the way,” I whisper, kissing him on the forehead.
“He’s dying, Audrey. There’s too much blood. I’m going to lose my son, aren’t I?” Caleb cries out, faint sirens blaring in the distance. Donovan’s eyes are half lidded, but his gaze never leaves mine. Caleb holds his hand and cries into his palm, a visceral roar that will haunt my dreams.
“He’s gonna be alright. Caleb, it’s okay,” I tell him, the sirens getting closer. I lean closer to Donovan, his breaths getting more and more shallow.
Please get here faster.
“Stay with me, baby. Don’t sleep. Stay awake for me. Stay with me,” I whisper. I press my lips against his, my tears fall on his face. “I love you. Don’t leave me.”
He stops moving. His body goes limp. The slam of a door. The hurried footsteps up the porch. EMTs work around me, carefully moving Donovan off of my lap. His face is lifeless, the color completely drained. I glance behind me and see another set of first responders on Kellan.
A puddle of blood pools around Kellan’s body, a gunshot wound to the chest. His dirty blonde hair is speckled with blood. The sharp features on his face droop as his limp body is examined by a first responder. He’s dead. Kellan’s whiskey brown eyes stare back lifelessly, and I feel his hooks unclasp and release me.
I’m free from Kellan forever. For good.
Caleb is in hysterics in the corner of the room, hands covered in blood, screaming at the EMTs to save his son.
I look down and assess myself. My hands are warm and sticky, my clothes drenched. “Ma’am, are you hurt? Do you need help?” A first responder asks. I shake my head no and rise to my feet as they lift Donovan on a stretcher. Everyone moves so quickly, but my world is in slow motion. I silently beg forDonovan to turn his head toward me and grin that beautiful grin.
“I’m okay, Mouse,” he’d say. But he doesn’t.
“I’m going with him in the ambulance,” I demand as I watch them strap an oxygen mask around Donovan’s face. I look at Caleb, whose hands are above his head, trying to gain control of his breath. His eyes follow Donovan as they whisk him away.
“Caleb,” I clip, getting his attention. “I’m going in the ambulance. I’m not leaving him,” I choke, my voice finally breaking as the emotions flood back into me.
First responders cut through Donovan’s shirt to dress the wound as I step up into the back of the ambulance. It’s chaos as hurried voices float in the small space. I’m not in my body. I’m more like an obscure fly on the wall, bug-eyed and vision blurry.
They hook him up to an AED, strategically placing the pads on his chest. I jerk at the first shock, Donovan’s chest arching off of the stretcher. A man with large hands administers CPR, trying to pump life back into him. I’m frozen in time. I study Donovan’s features, following the perfect slope of his nose with my eyes. His lips are full, but the reddish pink hue is gone. He’s still so beautiful.
Another shock.
My shoulders jerk at the sound. Suddenly, everything moves in real time. It feels out of control, the world spinning chaotically off its axis. My hands shake as I hold them up to my face, the blood drying, but still wet against my clothes. This can’t be real. This isn’t happening.
Another shock.
I reach for his hand, lacing my fingers through his, but he doesn’t grip back.
Please, hold my hand. Just let me know you’re still here with me.
“Donovan, baby, wake up. Come on. Wakeup!” I grit, my voice cracking as the hot tears streak down my cheeks.
My world begins with Donovan King. It always has. And as I look up at the heart monitor, all I see is a flat green line, like the horizon of a world now devoid of sun. A long torturous beep, piercing the deepest part of my soul. The part that belongs to Donovan. A part of me gone forever.
My world now, as I know it, ends with Donovan King.
