just_muse_me | 27.1.6. Charles L. Allen quote
27.1.6. "Remember that you are needed. There is at least one important work to be done that will not be done unless you do it." - Charles L. Allen
[Follows THIS]
As his consciousness slowly clawed it's way back, Patrick felt like he was trying to fight his way through a thick and hazy fog. There was a sharp pain in his head and a nauseating smell of chemicals assaulting his nose, but any awareness as to where he was failed him at first. He couldn't move, and the trapped sensation was overwhelming as he gradually managed to regain consciousness, opening his eyes and lifting his head a little. Pain. It wasn't just in his head. Something was very wrong, and he only realised what it was when he cracked his eyes open a little and discovered there really was a smokey haze around him. Steam, maybe... and the smell was fuel. Gradually he clawed hold of an awareness that he was in the car, and that was what was wrong. He didn't have a recollection of what had happened, only that through the dispersing haze, he could see Aiden, slumped over to the side, unmoving.
"Aiden," Patrick managed to get out, though his voice was choked and hoarse. He started to cough as the smoke insulted his senses, but he reached over towards his husband, despite the bolt of pain that shot through him. His mind was starting to offer a bit more clarity. He had a vague recollection of yelling at Aiden in the car, but nothing after that. "Aiden!" he tried again through a catching sob. Aiden didn't move, and it was only then that Patrick realised his lap was covered in glass shards from where the passenger's window had shattered. Panic overtook everything else then, and Patrick's eyes swept over Aiden's unmoving form, discovering that his grey shirt was soaked red down one side. "No... no!" His hand gripped vice-like around Aiden's bicep as he tried to shake him just a little, but there was still no response. Shaking fingers crawled their way up to Aiden's throat, trying to feel for a pulse as he watched Aiden's face in terror, desperately praying inside that his husband would just open his eyes.
There was a pulse, but it was faint. Panting heavily to try and regain his breath and shut down the panic, Patrick knew that whatever he did in these next few moments could potentially save his husband... or kill him. Tears were streaming down his face, but he barely registered them as he managed to unfasten his seatbelt with a whimper of pain. The nurse inside him was putting up a good fight, and rationally he knew what to do, but it was battling a temptation to just scream out for help and sob in fear of being trapped in a car wreck. Aiden had probably hit his head against the window on impact when it broke, but other than a small trickle of blood from his temple and his nose, there wasn't enough of it to have soaked his shirt that much. Not when the grey of it was disappearing more and more before Pat's eyes. He spotted Aiden's cell phone on the compacted dash board and the panic crept up in him again, his breath coming out in small, shallow bursts as he started to cry with more fervour. But he swallowed it back again, and the terror was stamped down in favour of a determined wave of rationality. He sucked in a deep, sharp breath and then reached abruptly, his fingertips brushing against the cell phone and nudging it just out of his reach as he cried out in pain. He slumped back against the chair, stars dancing in his peripheral vision as the agony screamed through him. He was injured too, but it didn't matter. He had to get help, and then he had to keep Aiden alive.
It took three more attempts until he was finally able to clutch hold of the phone, and this time, as he slumped back in the driver's seat, he retched from the sheer intensity of the pain and turned his head away as he vomited down the side of the seat. His hand was trembling violently, blood streaked over his fingers and wrist as he dialled in 911. "I- need help," he gasped out. "C-Car accident. I-I don't know where we are, but we need help. I-I think we're... trapped." The last word caught in his throat as he once again fought off his emotions. "We were leaving Princeton... to New York. I just... please help us! My husband... he's..." He lost his grip on the phone and it fell onto the floor between his feet. For a moment, he just looked down in the direction it fell, stunned. There was no way he could pick it up. His legs were trapped under the wheel... and he couldn't feel them.
It all came rushing back to him like an avalanche. He should never have been behind the wheel. The symptoms might have only just been starting, but this was his fault. Aiden was hurt, bleeding, maybe dying, and it was all Patrick's fault. If Aiden died, it would be his fault.
He didn't know what it was that he drew on and gripped at to stop him from breaking down and losing it then, but he seized a burst of adrenaline from somewhere. It wasn't the nurse that was winning out in this fight, it was Aiden's husband, and it was almost like he suddenly become numbed to his own pain. He located the site of most of the bleeding, a large shard of glass lodged in Aiden's throat just below his carotid artery. It was almost enough to cause Patrick to start laughing hysterically when he realise just how close to death Aiden had come. Two inches higher, and there would be no pulse. He didn't try to remove it, he didn't know how deep it was, and might have splintered and caused more damage. Instead, he just tore his shirt off and pressed it against Aiden's throat to try and staunch the blood flow. He found the strength to keep the pressure, two fingers remaining against Aiden's pulse to make sure it was still there. Resting his head against the back of the seat as he just watched Aiden's face, feeling the fade throb faintly under his fingertips... praying over and over as he gave into the tears that someone... anyone... would come to help them in the next few minutes, or that all too familiar heartbeat would stop.
Word Count | 1,077
[Follows THIS]
As his consciousness slowly clawed it's way back, Patrick felt like he was trying to fight his way through a thick and hazy fog. There was a sharp pain in his head and a nauseating smell of chemicals assaulting his nose, but any awareness as to where he was failed him at first. He couldn't move, and the trapped sensation was overwhelming as he gradually managed to regain consciousness, opening his eyes and lifting his head a little. Pain. It wasn't just in his head. Something was very wrong, and he only realised what it was when he cracked his eyes open a little and discovered there really was a smokey haze around him. Steam, maybe... and the smell was fuel. Gradually he clawed hold of an awareness that he was in the car, and that was what was wrong. He didn't have a recollection of what had happened, only that through the dispersing haze, he could see Aiden, slumped over to the side, unmoving.
"Aiden," Patrick managed to get out, though his voice was choked and hoarse. He started to cough as the smoke insulted his senses, but he reached over towards his husband, despite the bolt of pain that shot through him. His mind was starting to offer a bit more clarity. He had a vague recollection of yelling at Aiden in the car, but nothing after that. "Aiden!" he tried again through a catching sob. Aiden didn't move, and it was only then that Patrick realised his lap was covered in glass shards from where the passenger's window had shattered. Panic overtook everything else then, and Patrick's eyes swept over Aiden's unmoving form, discovering that his grey shirt was soaked red down one side. "No... no!" His hand gripped vice-like around Aiden's bicep as he tried to shake him just a little, but there was still no response. Shaking fingers crawled their way up to Aiden's throat, trying to feel for a pulse as he watched Aiden's face in terror, desperately praying inside that his husband would just open his eyes.
There was a pulse, but it was faint. Panting heavily to try and regain his breath and shut down the panic, Patrick knew that whatever he did in these next few moments could potentially save his husband... or kill him. Tears were streaming down his face, but he barely registered them as he managed to unfasten his seatbelt with a whimper of pain. The nurse inside him was putting up a good fight, and rationally he knew what to do, but it was battling a temptation to just scream out for help and sob in fear of being trapped in a car wreck. Aiden had probably hit his head against the window on impact when it broke, but other than a small trickle of blood from his temple and his nose, there wasn't enough of it to have soaked his shirt that much. Not when the grey of it was disappearing more and more before Pat's eyes. He spotted Aiden's cell phone on the compacted dash board and the panic crept up in him again, his breath coming out in small, shallow bursts as he started to cry with more fervour. But he swallowed it back again, and the terror was stamped down in favour of a determined wave of rationality. He sucked in a deep, sharp breath and then reached abruptly, his fingertips brushing against the cell phone and nudging it just out of his reach as he cried out in pain. He slumped back against the chair, stars dancing in his peripheral vision as the agony screamed through him. He was injured too, but it didn't matter. He had to get help, and then he had to keep Aiden alive.
It took three more attempts until he was finally able to clutch hold of the phone, and this time, as he slumped back in the driver's seat, he retched from the sheer intensity of the pain and turned his head away as he vomited down the side of the seat. His hand was trembling violently, blood streaked over his fingers and wrist as he dialled in 911. "I- need help," he gasped out. "C-Car accident. I-I don't know where we are, but we need help. I-I think we're... trapped." The last word caught in his throat as he once again fought off his emotions. "We were leaving Princeton... to New York. I just... please help us! My husband... he's..." He lost his grip on the phone and it fell onto the floor between his feet. For a moment, he just looked down in the direction it fell, stunned. There was no way he could pick it up. His legs were trapped under the wheel... and he couldn't feel them.
It all came rushing back to him like an avalanche. He should never have been behind the wheel. The symptoms might have only just been starting, but this was his fault. Aiden was hurt, bleeding, maybe dying, and it was all Patrick's fault. If Aiden died, it would be his fault.
He didn't know what it was that he drew on and gripped at to stop him from breaking down and losing it then, but he seized a burst of adrenaline from somewhere. It wasn't the nurse that was winning out in this fight, it was Aiden's husband, and it was almost like he suddenly become numbed to his own pain. He located the site of most of the bleeding, a large shard of glass lodged in Aiden's throat just below his carotid artery. It was almost enough to cause Patrick to start laughing hysterically when he realise just how close to death Aiden had come. Two inches higher, and there would be no pulse. He didn't try to remove it, he didn't know how deep it was, and might have splintered and caused more damage. Instead, he just tore his shirt off and pressed it against Aiden's throat to try and staunch the blood flow. He found the strength to keep the pressure, two fingers remaining against Aiden's pulse to make sure it was still there. Resting his head against the back of the seat as he just watched Aiden's face, feeling the fade throb faintly under his fingertips... praying over and over as he gave into the tears that someone... anyone... would come to help them in the next few minutes, or that all too familiar heartbeat would stop.
Word Count | 1,077