"Don't worry Pat," I said into the phone, "I'm going to come and get you."
There was no answer. I pulled the phone away from my ear to find out he had hung up on me. I groaned and dabbed the tears away from my eyes with my good hand, "Now how to get out of this damned place," I murmured to myself as I searched the garage. That was when I saw it: a brick. I got up and walked over to where the brick sat in the garage, and picked it up, thankfully not being as heavy as it looked. Then I hobbled over with the brick in tow to the door leading to the rest of the house. I raised the brick high over the doorknob, then released it and ran off.
The brick hit its mark. It left some damage, but not enough. I repeated this entire thing over and over again, until the doorknob fell completly off, "Yes!" I cheered. The door swung open easily and I ran out, dialing the simple number of 9-1-1 on my phone, "My emergency is that an ambulance is needed in...ugh," I hit my forehead with the phone, trying to remember Pat's address, "Oh, it's on Caroline Ave., uhm, Clarkson Apartments number 1102...thank you." I only stopped for a moment to put my phone back in my pocket before continuing to sprint to Pat's. I had to be there, I just had to. I ignored the terrible pain shooting from my broken arm, but that can be taken care of later; I won't die from a broken arm.
I made it to the apartment building, an ambulance and police car just pulling up. One of the paramedics ran up to me and grabbed my good arm, "You need to come here and get that arm fixed."
"No! I shrieked, "It can wait. Let go of me!" I twisted around, trying hard to get out of the medics strong grip, "He's the one that needs saving dammit, no let go." I gave my arm a good bone-jarring shake and the medic let go of me, who immediatly bounded up the stairs of the apartments, determined to get to Pat.
His apartment door was still open, "Patrick!" I screamed, hoping he'd manage to hear me. I noticed the three medics were right behind me, one carrying a stretcher. I ran into the doorway and first saw Reese licking a wound (kick to the gut perhaps?) and then, in a pool of blood, layed Pat, his eyes fluttering shut, "Patrick!" I shrieked this time, falling at his side and grabbing hold of his hand, "Don't you dare leave."
The tears were now coming at full force as I saw the little color he had begin disappearing from his face. He can't die, he can't die, "Ma'am you need to get that arm taken care of. We'll take care of him, I promise," The one medic picked me up, but there was no way I was going without a fight, "I am not leaving his side,"
"Yes you are."
I continued thrashing in this unknown medics arms while another asked, "His name?"
"She's asking you," The one holding me stated, making me freeze. I looked to the woman and said, "His name is Patrick LeBlanc. His finacee is probably at work right now. Janel Tesh her name is."
"You're telling us you are his finacee?" The woman medic looked at me like I grew two heads, and her scruntity made me blush, "No I'm...I'm not."
"Alright. Hey Carl, help me get this guy on the stretcher." The one medic who'd been standing there holding the stretcher laid it down beside Pat, and the woman and Carl lifted him up onto it. Carl gave a whistle, "Looks like the main thing for us to worry about is the severe blood loss."
"Hmm, indeed. I'd say that'd be around 3 pints right here on the floor," The woman responded.
"Hey Judy, did the knife go all the way through him?" The medic holding me asked.
Judy leaned in closer to Pat, "I think so. I mean-"
"Can you guys just get him in the damn hospital?? Stop the stupid small talk!" I snapped. Judy and Carl looked at me, then nodded and lifted Pat and the stretcher off the ground, carrying him down the stairs. I was carried in the last medics arms, much to my irritation; his arms were not comforting whatsoever, and he gave me bad goosebumps.
They boarded us both into the two ambulences and the seemingly creepy medic began touching my arm, "We might need to rebreak this," He continued running his hand along my disgusting swollen limb, "Going anywhere Friday?"
My eyes shot up to look at him, "What??"
"Do you want to go somewhere on Friday with me?" I tore my arm out of his hands, ignoring the shooting pain, "Oh I heard you pefectly fine. It's the fact you'd ask me that in my time of need that disgusts me." First my arm, then Pat, then the medic's were hitting on me. What else could make this day worse?
Apparently, it could get worse. I stepped out of the ambulence to see Janel and Creeves standing next to each other, "Oh why?" I groaned to myself. It took all my strength to keep from breaking Creeves's jaw right there on the spot. Instead, I smiled sweetly, "Hello."
"Loise, isn't this a coincedence. Your husband informed me about everything. You were calling Pat asking about the other night and then he accidentally stabbed himself over making lunch and you heard the entire thing. So you ran quickly to his apartment while calling 9-1-1 only to trip and break your arm. But you are such a doll for saving my Patty! I'd hug you right now but I'm afraid that'll hurt you." Janel was estatic about the whole thing. I stared straight into Creeves eyes, "Yeah, a real hero."
I could tell Creeves realized that telling the truth about me meant telling the truth about how Pat really got hurt. I saw Carl and Judy carrying Pat away on the stretcher, "My Patty!" Janel shrieked, and sprinted after them, leaving Creeves and I alone, "You should be pleased I didn't rat you out."
I gave him a sneer, "You only did it for yourself. If you would've told you'd be on your way to the death chamber."
"So you'd wish Bree, so you wish."
The creepy medic came up to us, face red from discovering I was married, "Come in the hospital and get your arm fixed miss," This time the medic just walked through the doors, knowing I'd follow. Creeves stayed outside, mostly likely going to his car to smoke a pipe. I felt hope in my heart then; perhaps he'll smoke enough to make his heart pop.
Before this entire situation I hated hospitals and everything about them. The medic led me to a room where two beds sat, "There's two beds, but you'll be alone in here for your stay. The doctor and nurse will be here shortly," He walked out, leaving me alone in a room full of needles, making me queasy. Thankfully, the doctor shortly showed up. Unfortuently, the nurse that followed carried a tray of paper maiche, needles meant for me sitting beside it, "Good afternoon Bree, I'm Dr. Anderson. How you feeling today?"
My statement made him chuckle, "Well you should feel proud. You saved that man's life."
My heart skipped a beat from those words, "He's going to be ok?"
Dr. Anderson rolled my sleeve up to look at my arm while he spoke, "Well he's currently stable, but the thing we're worrying about right now is major blood loss...we're going to have to reset this arm."
"What?!" My fear was obvious in my voice.
"It's ok. Taylor over here will give you an injection to numb the pain,"
"Oh no no no, no shots please," I cried. Dr. Anderson held the needle in his hand, "Do you want your husband in here?"
"No, he's probably too busy now," The doctor gave me a look, but shook his head, "Alright here we go,"
I turned my head away and gritted my teeth. The shot was thankfully over fast enough, and Dr. Anderson quickly got through resetting my arm before I threw up again. As soon as my arm was fully in a cast and a sling I asked, "Could I see him? Pat?"
"Well visitation hours just ended, but you're technically a patient."
"So I can?"
Dr. Anderson gave me a look that told me he could read everything in my eyes, but he didn't try to delve into that madness, so he smiled, "Stay there as long as you like."
So I sprinted out of that room, following signs to get to the ICU. I skidded up to the counter on the third floor, "Patrick LeBlanc's room?"
The secretary looked at me, panting with a broken arm, "Visiting hours are over honey," She stated with a pop from the gum she chewed.
"I'm not a visitor though," I acknowledged my broken arm and she rolled her eyes, "Number 3110. He ain't awake though."
"That's ok," And then I was off again, secretly thankful my leg wasn't what broke.
I slide into the room and there he was, fast asleep. Pat looked like he should've been in severe pain, but his face was peaceful, pain relievers my guess, "Oh Pat I'm so sorry."
This was my fault. True, I did save him, but I wouldn't have had to save him if it wasn't for me. I took a seat beside his bed and just studied him, eyes trailing all the cords they put into him to help. I placed my hand on top of his and whispered, "I'm so so sorry Patrick, this is all my fault." The tears were beginning to reach my eyes from all the guilt I felt. He could've died, and I wouldn't have been able to live with myself. Plus the thought of Pat not being around was agony.
I realized what I had to do then. It would be terrible for me to handle, but it'd save Pat. I searched the room for a piece of paper and pen.