Just to Hold You Close and Tight

“My pocket,” I breathed.

Ray was shaking in frustration. “You have to take it out. I can’t touch it.”

I couldn’t imagine moving. I hadn’t moved a muscle since the man with the knife left. I moaned.

“Please,” Ray whimpered. “You can. You have to!”

He was right, of course. I couldn’t wait for someone to find me. How long would it take? How much would I bleed? Would I be able to keep breathing?

When I reached into my pocket quickly and threw the phone to the side, the breath caught in my throat because of my broken ribs. I coughed, more blood coming out of my mouth. I would have screamed at how my hand protested, too, except that I could barely breathe.

Ray groaned, but I heard him dial three digits and hit send. He held the phone to my ear.

However, I was closing my eyes. It helped the pain. I was becoming numb.

“Stay awake!” I heard Ray say into my ear. It pulled me out of my dreamy state, back into the agony.

“Hello? Hello?” A woman’s voice was coming from the phone.

“Amber, tell her You’re on Walnut Street, and you’re behind a fence,” Ray said urgently.

“Walnut stree-” the word caught in my throat as I tried to say it. “Street. Behind the fence,” I managed to force out of my mouth.

“What’s wrong?” the woman asked, but I just groaned. The phone was pulled from my ear, and I heard a click.

“Stay awake,” Ray begged. “Amber, I’m so sorry. Stay awake.”

“I’m-”

He interrupted me. “Don’t talk. It hurts you. Just stay awake.”

I tried. I really tried, but the numbness was calling me, drawing me away from the pain.

“Don’t!” he exclaimed, and his voice cut into the fatigue like a razor.

As much as my body wanted to sleep, I knew I shouldn’t. I also knew that only Ray’s voice was keeping me from giving in. It was the only thing keeping me attached to reality. “Talk,” I said. Even through the blood, I managed to make the one word a command.

“I’ll talk,” he agreed. “I can talk. Does it help? Don’t answer. You stop trying to talk. It’s not helping anything,” Ray was taking my request seriously. He kept rambling on. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I should have found something to do. I couldn’t think of anything. I wanted… It was killing me all over again!” he exclaimed in despair.

I moaned. The numbness was creeping up on me again.

Ray kept talking. “Every cut, every kick, every break. He was tearing me apart all over again. There must have been something I could have done. I should go to hell!” he proclaimed.

This upset me, but I couldn’t tell him. He continued, “I deserve to go to hell for standing by that! I want to go to hell! I want to burn in hell!”

“No,” I whined.

“How can you say that?” he asked. “Aren’t you here, bleeding on the ground because I’m a ghost? I’m supposed to protect you! This is my fault in so many ways. If I weren’t dead! If you had driven! If you were with anyone else, you wouldn’t have been helpless!”

Now even his voice was fading. I fought to stay awake, to keep listening, but I was slipping away.

“I wanted to help you, I needed to help you!” he yelled to himself. Then he noticed I was slipping into unconsciousness.

As the rest of my senses failed, my hearing remained for a little bit longer. I heard distant sirens. Finally, even Ray’s “Amber! Don’t! I’m sorry!” sounded like it was getting farther and farther away.

“Sorry,” I echoed just before falling asleep.