Something's Gotta Give

Crash

"Why do I have to be such a nice person?" she whined.

She crawled along the seat to the passenger side and had to shove hard to get it opened. Huffing and puffing, cursing something awful, she ran toward Mr. Fancy Car and threw open the driver's door.

He was unconscious. Not good.

She was positive he was still choking when she was in her truck. Using two fingers, she checked for a pulse and found it to be thready. She looked down and noticed that his chest wasn't moving. She patted around him gently and felt no broken bones; the airbags had done their job well.

"Shit," she hissed and worked his seatbelt off. She apologized aloud when his head hit the side of the car, but he was heavy. Bella barely weighed a buck and a quarter. Though lean, the man in her arms had to be at least six feet tall. The nearest hospital was thirty minutes away, and she had no clue how long it would be for an ambulance.

"Omph," she said as she plopped on the ground, cushioning his fall. Her ass was going to bruise, no doubt about it. "You better live so I can slap you stupid for this!" She worked to shift him onto his back, and though a few bystanders joined her, no one knew how to Heimlich him.

She prayed she remembered.

It had been years since Mrs. Newtown insisted she take a CPR course before she took care of her two precious children. Bella had lovingly nicknamed them Thing 1 and Thing 2.

She bent over the man's prone form and breathed twice into his mouth.

"He's not getting the air, honey," a woman dressed in a waitress uniform said from behind her. "I think you're right, he's still got something lodged inside there."

Bella agreed and stuck her fingers in the man's mouth, ignoring that this was the most action she'd gotten in months. At least he was hot, despite the marinara all over his chin. She found the culprit, a golf ball, sized meatball, and pulled only half of it out.

"Shit."

She pushed in behind him and attempted a half-assed maneuver that popped the rest of the sucker out, but the man was still not breathing.

"Double shit."

Someone had already called for an ambulance, but it seemed to be taking forever. However, in reality, it had been only three minutes since she had gotten him out of the car in an effort to save his life. A man helped her move Mr. Fancy Car onto his back again, and with Bella's instructions, helped her begin CPR.

The wail of the approaching ambulance was a relief. If they had arrived a few moments earlier, then Mr. Fancy Car wouldn't have started coughing after the seventh set of compressions, and vomited all over her chest.

~oOo~

Esme Cullen had hugged Bella as if she walked on water. There were many tears, some thankful words, several pats on the back, and an awkward, "I'm sorry I leaked all over your shirt."

Mr. Fancy Car turned out to be Carlisle Cullen, an ER doctor at the hospital Bella was in right then, and apparently, some sort of God there. All his colleagues shook her hand so much, she wondered if a teenage boy felt that way once he figured out Rosy Palmer could take care of his needs.

Her wrist actually hurt!

If that Dr. Aro Donatello patted her ass one more time while she waited for news, she was going to kick him in the shins and punch him in the nuts. The dude was creepy as hell with his shoulder length, dark hair styled in a widow's peak. He spoke as though he was from the fifteenth century, but giggled like a child.