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“Up there.” Ezra, who has been quiet, caging in her emotions as she has been taught all her life, whimpers.
I see it, the mound of fresh dirt so close to the river yet buried so far back no one would have seen it. We run, adrenaline pumping my exhausted legs closer to it. To her.
Our shovels penetrate the dirt, digging in all directions as we desperately fight to get to her. I can hear voices around me, feel the eyes of many, but the only thing I can focus on is getting to Jasmine.
Our shovels clank against the box, a sigh leaving everyone’s lips as my own breath gets trapped in my lungs.
“Hand me the fucking crowbar,” I bark at no one in particular. Fuckers had nailed it shut.
I jump in the hole, prying the lid open. Using all my strength as time seems to slow, moving at a snail's pace, before the lid splinters. The wood breaks apart in my hands as I wrench it open.
And there she lies.
Ground water circling around her nose and lips, hands unrecognizable with the raw, torn skin covered in blood.
I place one hand on her waist and the other behind her head as I pull her wet, limp body into my arms.
Everett extends his hand, helping me up.
I feel nothing during the moments I lay her body on the soft ground, pushing her wet hair from her bruised face. Her raw wrists laid at her sides as I check for a pulse.
There is no heartbeat beneath my fingers but her skin, as wet and cold as it is, has a hint of warmth running beneath the surface.
I attach my lips to hers; dirty blood and filthy water mask her vanilla scent. I breathe in and count.
Breathe.
Count.
Breathe.
Count.
I don’t know how long I do that for before my body is ripped away from hers. An oxygen mask is brought to her face as she’s lifted onto a stretcher and carried into an ambulance.
I fall to my knees as they drive away, my mom collapsing next to me, an army of people at my back.
My ego is dammed, my soul lifeless, as wetness coats my cheek, salty drops falling to my lips.
“You did good, Easton. You saved her.”
But I’d never really saved her, she always saved me.
* * *
A glass widow.
That’s how I’m allowed to see her—through a glass window. As if we haven’t been apart long enough, a thick, cool glass window separates me from my everything. My hands push into the weighted glass, hands turning white. Failure is the only feeling my numb mind will allow me to consume as I watch her. Wires stream from every direction as a ventilation tube sticks out of her mouth. Soft blue bedding cradles her limp body, doing the one thing I would kill to do at this very moment. Machines beep in the silent hallway of the ICU. The smell of antiseptic comforting compared to the smell of dirt. A soft, but gentle hand rests on my shoulder. The comforting smell of lavender reminding me of home overwhelms the scent of the antiseptic. Turning, I see my mom, her eyes tracking the rise and fall of Jasmine’s chest.
“You need to go home and shower. Maybe sleep, before your body gives out.” She speaks with a softness I haven’t heard since I was a young boy.
I shake my head. “No.”
“It wasn’t a question, Easton.”
“I can’t. What if she wakes up and finds herself all alone again while I’m gone?”
My mom finally looks over to me, eyes glazed over. “She won’t. I’ll stay here.”
