Far From You

60

FOUR MONTHS AGO (SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD)

I wake to the sound of Mina dying. A death rattle.

“Mina, oh my God, Mina.” I crawl over to her; it’s like I’m moving underwater.

She’s lying on her back a foot away, bathed in the light from the car’s brights and the blood, her blood, has already stained the dirt around her. Her hands rest against her chest, and her eyes are barely open.

There’s blood everywhere. I can’t even tell where the bullets went in. “Okay, okay,” I say, words that have no meaning, just to fill the air, to drown out the sound of her breath, the way it comes too fast and shuddery, wet at the end, like her lungs are already filling.

I rip my jacket off, press it against her chest where the dark wetness keeps spreading. I have to stop the blood.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes.

“No, no, it’s okay. Everything will be okay.” I look over my shoulder, half convinced he’s lurking somewhere, waiting to finish us off.

But he’s gone.

She coughs, and when blood trickles out of her mouth, I wipe it away with my hand. “I’m so sorry, Sophie,” she whispers.

“You don’t have to be. It’s okay.” I press harder into her chest with both hands. “It’s okay. It’ll all be okay.”

But the blood bubbles up against my fingers, through the denim of my jacket.

How can there be this much blood? How much can she lose before…

She swallows, a convulsive movement, and when she breathes out, more red stains her mouth. “Hurts,” she says.

When I reach out with one hand to smooth the hair off her forehead, I leave a trail of blood behind. All I can think about is that time in third grade. She fainted when I cut my arm open so badly I needed stitches; she didn’t like blood. I want to hide it from her now, but I can’t. I can see it in her eyes, that she knows what’s happening, the thing I can’t accept.

“It’s okay,” I say again. I swear it, when I have no right to.

“Sophie…” She lifts her hand, clumsily drags it toward mine. I twist our fingers together, hold on tight.

I won’t let her go.

“Soph—”

Her chest rises with one last jagged breath and then she exhales gently, her body going still, her eyes losing their light, their focus on me dimming as I watch. Her head leans to the side, her grip slowly loosening in mine.

“No, no, no!” I shake her, pound against her chest. “Wake up, Mina. Come on, wake up!” I tilt her head back and breathe into her mouth. Over and over, until I’m drenched in sweat and blood. “No, Mina! Wake up!”

I hold her tight against my shoulder and scream in the darkness, begging for help.

Wakeupwakeupwakeuppleasepleaseplease.

No help comes.

It’s just her and me.

Mina’s skin gets colder by the minute.

I still don’t let her go.