"We need a stretcher, now. Disinfectant wipes, anti-pain medication. This one's losing blood. Check her eyes for signs of concussion."
Before I know it, all the other men are taken into custody by the policemen and the others for the ambulance and rushing us inside. The room is swirling around me. Someone grabs me and carries me all the way to the ambulance. It isn't Owen because I know he's holding my hand beside me.
I'm seated beside Owen inside the ambulance, and Joey's stretcher is rolled inside. The doors close and we begin driving away.
Someone flashes a light in my eyes. When it's retracted, wipes and cloths are pressed to my arm, making me wince in pain. They're telling me to hold on, that this is necessary.
Many people are surrounding Joey, doing who knows what. Owen is getting the same light procedure I did. Then the ambulance stops and we're ushered outside and into a room after the stretcher is rolled out once again.
I'm helped into a bed where they begin giving me a numbing shot in my arm and another gets a bunch of supplies for stitches. As soon as the needle touches my sensitive skin, I let out a shout, arm screaming in pain.
"We're going to have to sedate her," one doctor says to the other.
And the next thing I know a mask's over my face and everything goes dark.
<•>•<•>
As soon as I wake up, I'm out of the bed. I don't want to keep worrying about myself. I have so much more to worry about. Joey was shot. He could be dead right now.
I leave the room, turning the corner. I find Owen sitting in a chair, head in his hands. Sitting down next to him, I put a hand on his shoulder so he's aware I'm here.
He looks up, seemingly relieved to see me. His eyes look tired and his hair is completely messed up. "Brinley," he sighs, taking my hand. He inspects my upper arm and I do it as well, finding at least twenty stitches up it.
"How's Joey?" I ask cautiously.
He sucks in a deep breath. "He'll be fine. It missed major organs, but he lost a lot of blood. They're replenishing."
I let out a relived sigh. "Good."
We sit here silently for a long time. I don't know what to say. It's apparent that he doesn't either. The silence is comforting.
<•>•<•>
"He's through surgery fine," the doctor says. "The bullet has been removed. He has lost a lot of blood, and the wound has left some slight issues that will call for regular check-ups. Your friend will be here for a week and a half more."
I crane my neck trying to have a look through the blinds at Joey, and I find two eyes staring back at me. I start, jumping backwards a little. "He's awake."
"So it seems," the doctor nods. "You're free to go inside for a few minutes."
Owen goes in first and I sit right outside the door. I can't express how grateful I am that no permanent issues have occurred. We'll all be okay. That's all I could ask for.
Five minutes go by before Owen returns to the hallway and tells me it's alright to go see him now.
I press open the door slowly, and I don't know why I'm so nervous to see him. Maybe since it's partially my fault he's in here for the first place.
Jory's eyes meet mine and his face breaks into a grin. "Aw, Brin, it's so good to see you alright."
I walk cautiously over to his bed, eyes never leaving his.
"Oh gosh, stop acting like that," Joey shakes his head.
"Like what?" I ask.
"Like guilty and whatnot. I'm fine," Joey smiles at me. "Now come give your bestie a hug."
I do as he tells me and wrap my arms around him gently as not to hurt him. He thinks differently, pulling me against him as hard as he can, letting out a laugh at my discomfort.
He finally lets go with a grunt and I stare at him in surprise. "You're going to hurt yourself."
"Ah, don't worry yourself," Joey shoos my concern away. "I survived a gunshot, I'm sure I can survive pretty much anything now."
I roll my eyes. "Go right ahead, throw yourself in front of a train and test your theory."
Joey frowns. "Brinley, are you alright?"
I look down, not knowing how to reply to that. I just escaped a kidnap. I just got away from a psychotic. I just killed a psychotic. I held a gun in my hands and shot him. Am I supposed to be okay coming back from a living nightmare?
"Holy crap-HOLY CRAP," Joey exclaims. "What happened to your arm?"
I shrug. "He cut me."
Joey looks horrified for me. He attempts to say something, but closes his mouth again. He shakes his head. "I'm going to kill Jonathan. I am going to murder him."
"Don't worry about that," I interrupt softly.
"What?" Joey looks confused.
"I killed him," I say. As I do so, I burst out in tears. Everything that's happened just falls onto my shoulders and I can't stand it anymore. I want to know who decided that it would be hilarious to throw all this at me. Who decided it would be okay to ruin any chances of happiness I have?
"Come here," Joey says, sitting up with a wince. "Come here, Brinley."
I fold myself into his arms, trying to maintain myself, but it doesn't work. Maybe I just need this. To cry for a while. To let myself be afraid. To let people comfort me. Maybe that's okay.
"I'm so sorry you had to go through all of this, Brinley," he says with a sigh. His hand is rubbing my back soothingly. "You don't deserve it."
"Brinley?" The door opens. "What's going on?" I recognize the voice as a concerned Owen.
"It'll be okay, Brinley, I promise," Joey whispers in my ears. Then he releases me again and I wipe off my tears. I nod quickly, trying to believe him. Everything will be okay now.
Owen's at my side now, a frown on his face. I attempt to smile at him and assure him I'm fine, but it doesn't work.
"Doctor says it's time for you to rest," Owen says, attention on Joey now. "We'll come back tomorrow, okay?"
Joey nods, giving me one last meaningful look before Owen guides me out the door. I focus all my energy on moving my feet one after another. I feel Owen's arm move around my waist as we trek to the car that one of the policemen returned to the hospital along with all out left possessions.
"Clarin called," Owen says once we're both in the car. His knuckles are white since his hands are clutching to the steering wheel. "I told her what happened."
I stare at him. "What did she say."
"I don't know," he says, still not looking at me. "She was crying the whole time."
He looks so guilty, eyebrows furrowed and frown evident. Tears gleam in his eyes when he actually turns to look at me. It makes my heart crack into a thousand pieces.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Brinley. I can't say it enough to express just how much it pains me to see you in pain. And knowing I could've stopped it all from happening-"
He stops, looks up, looks down, puts his head in his hands. I place a hand gently on his shoulder. He shakes his head over and over again.
"I couldn't protect you," he says, voice muffled his his hands. "I couldn't protect you from him."
"No," I shake my head. "You did. You came after me, you found me. If you hadn't been there, I would have been killed. You did save me. I've never been more grateful to have you."
"He hurt you," Owen says, rubbing his eyes. "What-what happened before I got there?"
I bite my lip.
"He didn't-?" He stops, looking up, red eyes afraid.
"No," I assure him quickly. "No, no. Not that."
"You don't have to tell me," he says. But his eyes tell me that he needs to know. He's dying to know.
"It's fine," I say. "He just... I don't know, he wasn't too violent... at first."
His eyebrows furrow and he just stares at me. I've never seen him look so much in pain. I know he still feels like it's his fault, even though he shouldn't. I probably will never convince him that it's not.
"Don't worry about me," I shake my head firmly.
"How can I not?" He asks, frowning again.
When I don't reply, he starts the car and starts driving us back to his apartment.
<•>•<•>
"-late Thursday night, the police received a call from a frantic girl who had been kidnapped two days prior. By the time we got there, one of the five men there was shot by Brinley Shane, the eighteen year old victim of this cruel event. The other four men were taken into custody while Jonathan Reanolds was rushed to the hospital. Joseph Harley, another victim taken in later was wounded by a bullet in his abdomen. The last captured, Owen Michaels was found with a minor concussion and few bruises. Brinley was found with a five inch long, inch deep cut in her arm that sliced through a vein. Meanwhile, the girl's family was in Missouri having no knowledge of the occurring events-"
The TV flips off. I lift my eyes and look around.
"Don't watch that," Owen says, looking very bothered.
"I thought you were asleep," I say with a sigh.
"Can't," he says simply, falling onto the couch beside me.
"You too?" I frown.
He simply drags me closer and holds his lips against my temple. And it makes me realize just how lucky I am that we're all okay. We've all made it through. It is a literal miracle.
"I love you," he whispers in my ear, making my heart melt away.
I relax into his arms, my eyes closing. I feel so exhausted.
"I almost lost you. Again," he says.
My eyes fly open. "You didn't," I reply firmly.
"I could have. I was so close." His arms tighten around me, as if he's determined to keep me safe.
"But you didn't," I remind him again. "I'm here. You're here."
"I'll never be more thankful," he says with a sigh. "We should at least try."
"Try?"
"To sleep. I can bet you haven't got much lately, and I haven't either," he says, sitting up so I do too.
He holds my waist so I can stand up first, then he takes my hand in his and walks me towards his room. I sleepily climb into the bed and pull the covers over myself, eyes heavy. Owen tucks my hair behind my ear, and his eyes search my face as if he's trying to find any signs of fear or discomfort.
"Where will you be?" I ask him.
"Joey's room," he replies.
"No, I can go there, you take your own bed," I start to sit up, but his hand stops on my shoulder.
"I want you here," he says.
"No," I shake my head. I can't take his space. He was already nice enough to let me stay here for the week.
"Brinley," he says firmly. "You stay here. Okay?"
I sigh, looking down. Maybe I'm just too tired now, but I give in and fall back onto the bed. He leans over and kisses my lips once, bids me goodnight, and leaves the room. It takes me less than a few minutes to fall into a deep sleep that I've needed for days.