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I noticed something was very off. Sure, Derek disappearing without warning was normal. However, Greg was there when he left. I'm sure he would've investigated why he left more. He should know some reason.
He seemed off. Just getting up and walking down the corridor had caused him to pant, which is never usually the case. (He does alot more exercise than me so he would usually be fine.) He'd usually be walking at a similar pace to me, just a bit behind mine, but today he strayed far behind, shivering and grasping his chest.
“There's something wrong with you as well. You're not usually this slow,” I paused just in front of the staircase and turned to him. He sluggishly staggered towards me, one hand trailing across the wall. When he finally got to the stairs, he leant on the bannister in front of me.
“I'm fine, I just feel tired.”
Then he pushed off the bannister, took a step and fell forward.
“GREG!”
I clamoured down the stairs after him to where he was laid on his side. He breathed out a stuttered breath as I came to his side.
"SHIT! You are not fine. I'm going to perform a checkup," I pushed him onto his back and fumbled with the zip of his jacket. His hand grabbed mine as if to stop me.
"I'm going to take off your jacket, I noticed you were holding your chest so that must be where the issue is."
His head fell back with a sigh. I finally grabbed the zipper and pulled it down.
!!!!
It was quite the sight to behold for me. Darkened crimson colours were stained all over his shirt. There's an even darker patch where the shirt had been cut into, a wound. There was so much of it everywhere. It was overwhelming.
"W-what is-"
"I didn't want you to find out!"
"Greg! You are crap at hiding your pain. I could see something was wrong since I walked out the bathroom. You should've asked me to help you, I'm the one studying for a doctorate!"
"Brook…"
"How did this even happen? It was him, wasn't it? That's why he left!"
"BROOK!"
I suddenly realised how loud and ignorant I was being and swallowed my rage. His fingers were contorted and stiff, which would happen when he was overwhelmed.
"Shit, sorry, I forget sometimes."
"Please…can you just do what you do best…make me feel better…please," he breathed, his fingers slowly relaxing.
I placed his jacket upon the wound and pressed down on it to keep in as much of his blood as I could. He winced hard with the pain.
"Nnngggghh!"
"I know, I know. It hurts…I'm sorry."
He started muttering unfamiliar Spanish sentences under his breath, which for all I know could've been exclamations of pain and swears.
“…realmente…duele mucho…”
“I need to call an ambulance, Greg,” I retrieved my cell phone from my pocket, while keeping my hand and the jacket over the wound.
“....buenoooo…” He breathed.
There was a long silence between us as I called and spoke to the person on the other end. After I had done with saying our address, something quiet slipped out of him.
“...te…amo….”
This was one of the only phrases I could understand from his spanish vocabulary. He had repeated it to me many times; when he was feeling doubtful about us, a post climax where he could only mumble sweet spanish nothings, when he wanted to say something that only we could understand. I could feel something hot swelling in my eyes.
“...I wanted…to tell…you…before……I go…”
“Greg no you're not going to go anywhere. You're going to stay here until they come.”
“...I mean…if…I die…”
Whatever was in my eyes was released and dripped onto his face. I could feel my emotions exploding. I didn't want to consider that fate. I didn't want to think even a bit about it.
“YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DIE! Trust me…you are not dying with me around…you're…in safe hands…” I kept trying to keep it all back.
“...I'm…feeling….odd…”
“You're feeling faint from the blood loss.”
“oh…”
He looked upwards at nothing, looking dazed and listless.
“Wh-hey, hey. Greg. Hello? Listen to me. Please answer this question. What day were you born on?”
“...I…..I……….I don't know…..”
Oh shit.
“Oh no…don't worry about it. Just breathe, keep breathing.”
“...uh huh……cariño…”
Oh fuck. Oh shit. I could feel my anxiety ramping up again. What if he truly faints? What if they don't get here on time? What if they get here too late? What if the impossible happens?
Well…I would dissect the shit out of Derek.
I was so focused on my anxieties that I didn't notice a soft, sweating touch upon my hand. It was his own shaking hand. He looked up at me as if I was the light of his life, an angelic being. As if he was ready to move on to the next…
“...no hay…que…preocuparse…”
Then his head fell back with a thunk and his eyelids stopped flitting. But his hand was still upon my own.
I almost died on the spot. He had disappeared. There was no more company. I was finally alone with just his bleeding body. At this rate it wouldn't be long until he could die. They were taking so long to come. What were they doing? He’s dying! He needs blood now.
I felt so fucking useless. There was nothing else I could do except add pressure to the wound. I don't know how much that is helping though.
Knowing that death was a possibility, I started to pour out everything. Everything my brain was thinking at that moment. My anxieties, my love for him, the best moments of my life with him, his teeth against my neck, his beauty, his smell, our future lives together. Now and then I could see him regain consciousness for a minute then fall back out into unmoving sleep.
I hadn't noticed the loud noise of voices and sirens outside. They had finally come. Nothing was staying in my head anymore. My head was empty. There was movement under my hand and his hand slipped off my own. He was hoisted above me and taken away leaving me with nothing.
Nothing but his blood on my hands.