Hit And Run With It

Chapter 14 - Belle's POV

Somewhere I can hear someone sobbing while light raindrops begin to kiss my face. Subtle spots of coolness that make me want to keep my eyes closed forever, drinking in the feeling of being on the edge of awake and dreaming. A siren pierces the damp air, someone calling my name. A hand on my cheek.

"Belle," a muffled voice above me.

Head throbbing. Feet splashing in the puddles gathering in the street.

I remember the crushing pain on my left side and being knocked straight off my feet.

My limp body cries out in pain when the paramedics - or who I'm sure are paramedics - are lifting me off the pavement and onto a gurney.

I dare to crack my eyes open.

Fear pulses through my mind that I might see my organs spattered on the truck - it was a blue truck - or on the pavement, because I'm almost certain that I'm not a whole person anymore. A broken and empty shell that they are carting away to the hospital. You can't do much for an empty shell. I already feel myself slipping as a mask is slipped over my face and someone starts squeezing the bag, but I can't breathe for them. The bag forces air through my lungs, and I don't have the strength to help them. The black of unconsciousness envelops me, like a long awaited hug from someone that's been gone for a long time, and I gladly welcome it.

***

Suddenly the blackness is not a warm embrace anymore, and I'm drowning in thick curtains of it, huge, billowing stage curtains that cover my face. Pushing the curtains aside with as much force as I can muster, I can hear yelling inside the room.

"What did you give her?" a voice growls.

My skull feels like it's full of cement, and I can't seem to work through the fog that lingers in my brain. I feel so sluggish, like a record player not quite wound up enough. My body can't seem to move as quickly as my thoughts are, and my breathing starts to pick up as I grow more and more aware of the feeling that I'm in danger.

The sound of a body being thrown up against a wall startles me, and I try to turn my face to the source of the sound. Agonizingly slowly, the effects of whatever Brett gave me starts to wear off, and I start to regain feeling in my hands and feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Caleb was the one who threw Brett up against the wall, and currently has his hands latched around his throat. Even from the bedroom floor I can see the fire that burns behind his eyes, and in that instant I know that Caleb won't stop. He won't let go. And if I don't do something, Brett is going to die. My tongue feels foreign in my mouth, but I force it to move.

"Cale...Caleb. Stop."

His jaw tenses as he releases his hands from Brett's neck and whirls around to face me.

"Belle," he says breathlessly, dropping to his knees in front of me. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have-"

He is cut off by Brett's loud coughing. His breathing is quick and wheezing, and he is rubbing at his throat, where I can already see bruises from Caleb's crushing fingers forming. Caleb watches him carefully, a lion waiting for its prey to finally surrender.

"Caleb," I try to distract him, but once he places a hand on either side of my face, the bedroom swims in my vision, and my stomach lurches, emptying the contents of the evening's festivities onto the thick carpet in front of my face. Caleb's hands scramble to pull back my hair while still watching Brett recover intently. I throw up everything in my body, the drug Brett slipped into my drink, the feeling of his hands on my body, his hot breath in my ear, his lips attacking me.

"C'mon, let's get the hell out of here," Caleb says tersely, hauling me to my feet by my snaking an arm around my back and under my shoulders. I feel like I weigh nothing as he drags me along the carpet to the stairs, carefully avoiding my vomit that has started to absorb into the fibres of the carpet. Before we start going down the stairs, he turns back to Brett and I can feel the muscles in his body go rigid.