Page 139 of It Happened on a Sunday
I leap across the stage and land on the other side of her, then grab onto Sloane immediately. She’s a dead weight as I roll her onto her back, her eyes closed, lips and skin tinged a horrifying light blue.
For one long, terrifying second, I can’t do anything. I can’t think, can’t breathe. I can only kneel there in horror as I realize she isn’t breathing. Her chest is as still as the rest of her.
“Fuck, no! No, no, no! Sloane, corazón, please, don’t do this to me. Don’t do this,” I repeat, my world turning inside out as I slide my hand up to her neck to check for a pulse.
It takes several seconds—each one agony—before I find it. It’s faint, really faint, but it’s there.
“What the fuck did you do to her?” Pauline demands as she leans over and slaps Sloane’s cheeks several times.
Sloane rallies for a second, her eyes opening and lips moving like she’s trying to speak. But then her eyes roll back in her head and she goes completely still again.
“Sloane Walker!” Pauline slaps her again. “Come on, baby. Wake up for me.” When that doesn’t work, she grabs her shoulders and shakes her like a rag doll. “Wake the fuck up,Sloane!”
This time there’s no response at all, not even an eye twitch.
“What did you give her?” Pauline demands again.
But I’m too busy trying to remember my college CPR to answer.
Tilt her head back.
Pinch her nose.
Cover her mouth and breathe out.
“Did someone call an ambulance?” Pauline yells into the crowd.
“I did.” Marco levers himself onto the stage, phone in hand. “It’s chaos down there, so G and Jaime are at the door, waiting for them to get here. What can I do?”
“She’s not breathing,” I tell him as I tilt her head back to try to clear her airway and see if she can breathe on her own.
When that doesn’t work, I pinch her nose, lean over, and breathe into her mouth, watching the quick rise and fall of her chest as her lungs inflate with my breath. I do it two times, then lay my hand on her chest.
Please, please, please.I can’t lose her. I just fucking found her. Just let myself believe in a future. And now the universe is calling game over before we ever reached the end zone?
“Please, Sloane. Breathe, baby. Please.”
But there’s still no response.
“Ambulance is five minutes out,” Marco says as he puts his phone on speaker.
“She won’t last five minutes without oxygen!”
Tilt her head back.
Pinch her nose.
Cover her mouth and breathe out.
Even as CPR protocol runs through my brain on a continuous loop, I can’t believe this is happening. Not to mention trying to figure outhowit happened. She was perfectly fine ten minutesago, laughing and talking and—
I bend down and deliver two more breaths. Then check her pulse again. It’s even fainter now. Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Marquis, Drew!” I yell. “See if they have an AED!”
“I thought you said she had a heartbeat,” Pauline whimpers.
