Don't You Dare Leave Me

Branches whipped across her face as she pushed through the trees, her shoes sliding on wet roots. Her flashlight bounced with every step, its narrow beam cutting through the dark until it landed on something, well, someone slumped against the base of a tree.

She froze for a second. Then sprinted.

“Shit."

She dropped to her knees in the dirt, heart thudding so loud she couldn’t hear the wind. Her light hit his face. Pale. Sweating. His suit shirt was soaked through and torn at the side, blood blooming fast across his ribs.

“God,” she whispered. “No, no no, can you hear me?”

She pressed her fingers to his neck. Weak pulse. Thready. But there.

She grabbed his wrist. Still warm. “Come on,” she said, louder now.

Nothing.

Her voice snapped. “Luke! Get the med team here now! I've got him!”

She shook him gently by the shoulder. “Hey, It’s me. You’re not allowed to do this, do you hear me?”

No response. She opened up his jacket and his shirt underneath. Her breath hitched as she saw his torso. Mentally slapping herself back to reality, she swore. He needed pressure on his ribs.

Whatever had happened to him was not a mere car crash.

Her voice cracked. “I swear to God, don’t you dare...”

She threw her flashlight to the ground and pulled on gloves with shaking hands. She had a feeling she'd need them as they drove to the crash site so she asked Luke to grab a few. The wound at his side was deep, but clean. Defensive. She pressed her hand hard against it and cursed under her breath.

“stay with me, damn it..” She leaned in closer. “You don’t get to promise me you’ll pick me up and then bleed out in the middle of a forest.”

Behind her, feet pounded the ground.

“Move!” she yelled. “I’ve got a chest wound, shallow pulse, and he’s semi-responsive. I need saline and a compress kit—now.”

Two medics slid beside her, dropping equipment. One reached to move her aside.

“No,” she snapped. “I’m staying. I’m stabilizing him.”

“Ma’am—”

“Don’t call me ma’am, just hand me the damn gauze.”

She leaned in again, close to his face. “Hey, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”

Nothing.

Her hands were covered in his blood. Her knees soaked. The wind howled above them, but all she heard was her own voice and the sluggish rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Don’t do this,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me like this. Not now."

Then, a twitch.

His fingers moved. Just barely.

Her head snapped down. “Hey?"

He made a sound like a breath that rattled at the edges. His eyelids fluttered open for the briefest moment.

She leaned in, breath held. “Hey,” she said, tears burning behind her eyes. “There you are.”

His gaze searched, unfocused, then landed on her.

He tried to speak, but his throat gave out. Instead, a faint twitch of his mouth—almost nothing—tilted into a weak, crooked smile.

And that broke her completely.

Her shoulders shook as she pressed her forehead lightly to his. “You idiot,” she whispered. “You scared the hell out of me.”

The medics finally moved in, lifting him gently onto the stretcher.

She didn’t let go of his hand.

Even when they strapped him down. Even when they loaded him onto the cart.

He was barely conscious, but his fingers stayed curled weakly in hers.

And she walked beside him the entire way back to the clearing- bloodied, breathless, and holding onto the one thing he didn’t have to ask for.

Her.