Whispered Prayers of a Girl

I drop to my knees, not only because I need to be on the ground to be able to get to her, but because my knees will no longer hold me up.

“Gwen,” I whisper hoarsely. Not expecting an answer, I’m not surprised when I don’t get one. Tears blur my vision, but I blink them away. I can’t afford to lose it right now. That can come later.

The door doesn’t budge when I try opening it. There’s glass on the pavement, but I don’t feel it as it cuts into my hands when I push my upper body through the window and gently push back her hair.

My heart stops, and I break out into a cold sweat when I see the big gash on her head, starting at her hairline and stopping at the outside edge of her eyebrow. A steady drip of blood falls from the deep cut, and when I look down, I see the small pool of blood. Icy

fear slithers deeper into my gut.

I amend my earlier thought.

Please don’t take her from me. Please, let her be okay. I can’t lose her too. Kelsey and Daniel can’t lose her. We all need her too damn much. She’s too important.

I slide my fingers along her neck until I reach the spot where a pulse should be. At first I don’t feel it, and I die inside, but then a faint bump hits the tip of my fingers. Then another a second later. It’s weak. Too fucking weak, but it’s there, and it gives me hope. I just pray it’s not false hope.

Needing to get her free of the seat belt, but not wanting to jar her too much for fear of doing more damage, I angle my body beneath hers and lie on my back so I’m looking up at her. Her hair drapes against my chest, just below my face, and the blood dripping from the cut starts soaking my shirt.

“I’m going to get you out of here, baby,” I tell her silent form. “Just hold on for me, okay? The ambulance is almost here. I just need you to hold on.”

I know she’s unconscious and probably doesn’t hear me, but it helps to talk to her. It makes the possibility of losing her seem less real. I can’t think of that right now, because I’ll freeze again. I wasn’t able to save Clara and Rayne. I’ll be damned if I won’t save Gwen.

Spreading my fingers as far apart as I can, I place my palm against her chest and lift my body slightly. When I release the seat belt, with my hand on her chest and my body only about a foot away from hers, I slowly lower her to me. I move her legs so they fall from behind the steering wheel.

Immediate relief hits me when I feel her warm body against mine, but it’s short lived, because I know she’s not out of danger. The gash on her forehead is deep and there’s a chance there could be internal bleeding in her brain. Not to mention there could damage to other parts of her body. From the brief glance I got when I first stuck my head in the cab, I didn’t see anything else wrong with her on the outside, but that doesn’t mean there couldn’t be something wrong on the inside.

I push past the panic that thought tries to bring forward.

I wrap one arm around her upper body and try to keep it as still as possible so I don’t jolt her as I start shifting both of us out of the window inch by inch.

I have her out about halfway, when the space becomes too small. I’m about to call out to my dad when I feel hands on the arm I have wrapped around her. I lift my head and look out the window to see my dad down on his knees, ready to help.

“Be careful. She’s got a big gash on her forehead and we don’t know what other injuries she has.”

He nods and slips his arms beneath her shoulders while I lift her upper thighs as best as I can with my upper body still in the truck. Once her legs are out, I scoot as fast as I can until I’m out. My dad has her laid out on her back, and I crawl until I’m hovering over her. Her face is ghostly white and it scares the shit out of me. Although I just felt her pulse a moment ago, the need to feel it again has my fingers going back to her throat.

Right as I feel the slight thump again, a voice comes from behind me.

“Sir, we need you to step back.”

A second later, a medical bag is set down beside me, then a paramedic gets down on his knees on her other side, while the other waits for me to get out of the way.

I want to insist that I’m not going anywhere, that I can’t leave her side, but I know I have to move in order for them to do their work.

I don’t stand, I just scoot back several feet and sit on my heels. My breath comes in pants as I watch helplessly while they take her vitals and slip on a neck brace. My body feels completely numb, all except for my heart. Each heavy beat sends a sharp pain through my chest. I ball my hands into fists so tight that my knuckles scream at me. Tears leak from my eyes, scalding my cheeks.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up. My dad’s standing there watching them work on Gwen as well, a look of deep sadness marring his face. My eyes drift past him to my mom, who has Daniel and Kelsey in her arms. Both are crying and have their eyes pinned on Gwen lying still on the pavement.

Kelsey’s eyes leave her mom long enough to look at me, and I lift my arm toward her, indicating I want them to come to me. I need them in my arms right now, and I know they need me too. My mom sees my lifted arm and lets the kids go. Kelsey, with her brother’s hand in hers, runs them both over to me.

I open my arms and they crash against my chest. I close my eyes and thank God they’re both okay, then beg God in the same breath that their mother will be as well. I open my eyes and see Gwen now on a spinal board.

The kids cry against my shoulders, and I want to keep them against me until I know Gwen is okay, but they need to be checked out too.

As if sensing my thoughts, another paramedic comes to kneel beside us, medical bag in hand. I release the kids and try to pull back, but they cling to me. I allow their arms to stay around me, but I lean my head back so I can look at them. Their lips tremble as their tear-filled eyes meet mine.

My voice is scratchy when I tell them, “The paramedics need to check you both over, okay?” Fear enters their face, so I reassure them. “I’ll be right here with you.”

“Is M-mama going to be o-okay?” Kelsey asks in a terrified voice.