Awake (Book 3)

Nineteen

A scream tore from my throat. I touched the knife, but white-hot agony spread from the point of impalement to the rest of my torso. In all my life, through everything I had ever gone through, all the times I’d been shot or had a bone broken, nothing had ever hurt so badly.

            “No!”

            There was a lot of commotion above me; nothing I could focus on. Spots danced in my vision and my breathing was harsh and labored. I kept screaming, just screaming, because the pain was unfathomable.

            “Ellie . . . oh, my God.”

            Hands touched me, gently laying me down. The lights above seemed a thousand degrees hotter and a thousand degrees brighter. I couldn’t focus; couldn’t keep my eyes open long enough to see anything.

            “Ellie, look at me. Please look at me.”

            August.

            I tried, but it was like ten tons of cement glued my lids together. And then something jostled the knife in my stomach, and I screamed again. TNT exploded behind my eyes.

            “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. Please look at me. Please open your eyes.”

            I can’t, August. I just can’t.

            “Okay. Okay. If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”

            He wrapped his fingers around mine, and with whatever feeble strength that remained, I tightened my grip around his as tight as possible. And that small feat enabled another, pushing my eyelids apart ever so slightly, just enough to make out his face.

            “That’s it,” he breathed. “That’s my girl. Stay awake for me, Ellie. This is going to hurt, but I have to stop the bleeding.”

            I frowned, feeling oddly light and weightless and fuzzy, if one could feel fuzzy. But then August pressed down on my stomach, and I howled, twisting in an attempt to get away.

            “Stop!” he cried. “Baby, please. I have to stop the bleeding. I have to—” his voice broke off, and he ducked his head, focusing on the task at hand. He was slick with blood up to his forearms.

            “The bounty hunters,” I murmured, nearly inaudible.

            “Taken care of.”

            “Good.” I fell silent, woozy and tired, and sleep sounded like the best thing ever in that moment.

            “Ellie.”

            I didn’t reply, head falling to the side.

            “Ellie, wake up. Keep talking to me.”

            “I’m tired,” I mumbled. “I want to sleep.”

            “You can’t, sweetheart. Hey.” His fingers gripped my chin, and at his touch my eyes opened again. His expression was desperate and broken. “I’m not losing you again, remember? You promised me you wouldn’t die. You can’t die.”

            I winced again as he adjusted the pressure on my wound, tears winding down my temples and catching in my hair. “I found my dad.”

            August released a shuddering breath. “Anything else. Talk about anything else but that.”

            My brows furrowed. The pain started to alleviate, until pure numbness filled my body. “Okay. Okay, Augie. Can I talk about you?”