It’s Lev.
He’s bleeding everywhere.
The light from my phone glints in his eyes as I launch forward. My feet land on the pier but don’t seem to propel me forward. Am I even moving? Or have I fallen into the underworld? Don’t look back or else you’ll get stuck forever.
“Lev!”
My voice cracks as I land next to him, trying to pry his hands away from his stomach. The gurgle that bubbles in his throat makes me sick, causing me to gag as I realize why his hands are so tightly wound over his gut—he’s trying to hold in his organs.
While searching his body for more wounds, I hear that stupid fucking frog croak again. Why would there be frogs in winter?
I stiffen and then turn to Lev.
The croaking is coming from him.
His lips part to speak, but blood surfaces instead of words, tiny droplets staining his chin and neck. I shake my head while leaning over him, a sob lodged in my throat that makes it feel like I’m trying to swallow a damn bowling ball.
“Shh,” I say shakily. “Don’t…don’t talk, baby. You’ll just…” I whimper when I realize just how white his skin appears. He’s so drained. Will an ambulance even make it in time? “I’m going to get you help. I promise. I’m going to get you out of here…”
He groans, the sickening gurgle of blood assaulting my ears as I try to listen to him.
“Don’t…Lev, please, don’t talk. Just…”
I glance at the wound, realizing that it’s not bleeding anymore. My hands fly to the seam, trying to keep it shut, trying to fucking think while the clap of footsteps echoes behind me. Light flashes over my shoulders.
“Hey, what’s going on down there?”
More footsteps. Curious voices. More lights.
Lev tries to shake his head, but it makes more blood pool at his lips. My chest tightens as I realize he’s touching a card. Some blood smears the edges, but it’s mostly fine, a thick card that feels expensive to touch, which reminds me of a card I once received before.
“Parker Somerville sends his regards.”
I feel sick.
I ache with the kind of pain that makes me want to vomit as I throw myself over Lev’s body, trying to hold him together until help can get here. We’re drawing attention at this point, but that’s good. Attention means help. And help means he can survive.
Right?
Several people try to tend to us, but I fight them off, wailing as I cling to his body. I’m vaguely aware of the activity exploding around us, the sirens in the distance, the lights flashing over my face and body. The lights that flash over Lev’s body reveal his lifeless eyes, motionless lips, pale skin.
Every time I try to touch his face, it feels rubbery and lax. I know he’s gone, but I can’t let him go. How can I possibly let him go after everything he’s done for me? I can’t do it. I can’t leave him.
Nobody can make me leave him.
But someone has made him leave me.