Chapter 10

10

Jonathan

Blood has soaked through the gauze, through the shirt, through the jacket. It even soaked into her shirt as she thrashed through her nightmare. This is not a good sign. It means the bullet has relocated to a place where it could do more damage.

I need to get to the restroom. I need to inspect the wound, but she is right there, watching me with her sad, scared eyes.

I consider telling her I have been shot, but I have a feeling that might scare her more. It might be a hint that I am disturbed—that I was willing to risk death for a fuck.

It is better if I wait. I will let her go ahead. I will go to the bathroom. I will stop the bleeding; then I will come back and make it up to her. I will be normal just for her. For the next nine hours. For as long as I can be.

"I'll see you back at the car," she says. She even makes this hopeless little wave. My heart breaks a little. This is another reason I avoid drugs. Coming down, I am soaked with the sadness of the whole damn world.

As soon as she is gone, I climb out of the rack. I land hard on my feet and stagger sideways.

My head feels dislocated. My body tingles with numbness. I grip the metal bars. I stare at the floor. I am about to pass out. Shit. This is not good.

I force my body toward the restroom. I swing unsteadily from one rack to the next, gripping the poles so I do not collapse. The train wobbles sickeningly beneath me.

My body is so relieved when I shut the door that it collapses. I grab for something to keep me from hitting the floor too hard but find only the toilet paper roll, which noisily unfurls.

I hit the floor with a resounding smack! It wakes me up a little.

I force my eyes open. I have to stay awake. I have to stay alive. I cannot leave her now. She will take it the wrong way. She will internalize it. She will think there is something wrong with her, when as far as I can tell she is perfect. I have to stay awake. I have to stay alive.

I take a big, gulping breath. Then another one. But it is like grasping at straws.

I need to examine the wound. I need to extract the bullet. Maybe I do not need Mas. Maybe I can do it myself.

I force myself to sit up, clawing at the walls. They tilt, or something inside my brain does. The room spins. Fuck.

I take a deep breath. I touch my shoulder. The wetness shocks me. It is far more blood than I expected. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I can do this. Calm. Stay calm.

I lean forward. I start to take off my jacket.

Something happens. I lose time. When I come around, I am on the floor again. The toilet is rattling above me. The floor is still vibrating. The train is still moving. I can still find her. I just have to stay alive. I just have to wake up.

I reach for something. I find nothing.

Sounds feel far away. My body feels far away. I have to get back to it. I am dying. Again.