And suddenly you're being pushed down into the desk chair, where you sit in momentary shock as he hurries to put on his shirt and bolts out the door. You finally realize what the fuck is going on and yell after him, tripping over your own limbs to get up out of the chair. You get your body coordinated and haul yourself out of the desk chair, following Dave.
He's tripping over things on the floor in the living room as he stumbles to the door. You're gaining on him, watching your footing around all of the bullshit littering the carpet. Bro looks at you questioningly, but you ignore him.
When you reach the door, Dave is in the street. He's looking around, dazed. You run to him, but stop as he turns to you. He's looking directly at you, but right through you. The look paralyzes you and you can't bring yourself to move. Your legs are cold, unmoving pillars of stone. Dave's aren't though, and he backs up a little more. That's when you see his body concave. You hadn't even noticed the car.
It hits his midsection and everything is slow. His back arches unnaturally and his head whips around. His body hangs in the air a moment before movement catches up to him and he is thrown a few feet from the car. You swear you hear a crackling, shattering sound, followed by tires screaming to a halt. But the car has stopped and there's still screaming. You didn't know you had even started screaming.
Dave is crumpled in front of the car and the driver looks horrified. But you don't care about the driver as she hangs up her phone and opens her car door. You're sprinting the rest of the way to Dave where he lies on the pavement. You collapse onto your knees next to him, your hands shaking and hovering over his mangled body. The driver is beside you now, restlessly moving and pacing and repeating "oh my god, oh my god." You don't know what to do.
You can't even believe it just happened. Dave shifts slightly with a groan and coughs thick, mucous-y blood onto the road. Then you finally get it into your head that it did happen. And you need to do something. You fumble with your pocket and pull out your phone, struggling to see the numbers through blurry eyes. You finally tap out the emergency number and wait. The ringing seems endless until a woman finally picks up.
"Nine-one-one, what is the nature of your emergency?" you can't bring yourself to say it. Coming to terms with what has just happened is slow. But you finally bring yourself to voice it, although choking back tears.
"M-my friend was just hit… by a car.." your words are slurred and mumbled and garbled but the woman amazingly understands you.
"What is your name and location, sir?"
"John Egbert… and we're at the corner of Main Street. Please hurry… Oh my god, please…" you were frantic now and tears were coming steadily down your face.
"We'll be there as soon as possible sir. I'm going to stay on the phone with you until EMTs arrive, alright? Everything will be fine. Was anyone else hurt?" You shake your head, then moments later realize she can't see you and sniffle out your reply.
"No, no, just hurry, please. He's bleeding and…" your voice drifts off and you swallow heavily, your throat filled with mucus.
"We're dispatching now sir. Help will be there soon. Until they get there, we need you to not touch the victim, alright?" As soon as she refers to Dave as a 'victim', you want to vomit. And you do. Your mouth fills with bile and your body curls inwards on itself, forcefully expelling the contents of your stomach.
"Sir, are you alright?" the voice at the end of the telephone sounds worried, and you just manage piece together a response.
"Yeah... I'm fine..." A satisfied noise comes from the phone. You wipe your mouth and look over to where Dave is with watery eyes.
He's covered in blood and Bro is next to him. You didn't even see him come out here. He's sitting by Dave, but moves to get up, his face and body ridged. He walks up to the woman and begins speaking to her, his tone low and sharp. She's nodding and crying, but you turn away. A gag pulses through your body as you drag yourself to Dave. His chest rises and falls, but only fractionally.
Tears fall harder now as the gravity of the situation hits you. Your body shakes with sobs and you just want to hold him closely and fix his mangled stance, but you can't. You know it will hurt him and you've already done enough. All you can do is curl up and cry with the phone to your ear as the sirens become clearer. You watch his chest heave and fall to the slow rhythm of nothingness. The air is stilled and there are a few people on the sidewalks looking at you now.
You just want to tell Dave how much he means to you. You don't want his last memory of you to be you screaming at him and prying at his feelings. You curl up a little more, hugging your knees while the woman on the phone babbles nonsense you don't care about. Your mouth is bitter and dry but you open it and rasp out an old song you learned on piano.
"Hold me…" The sobs are racking your body but you don't want to stop, you want Dave to hear.
"Wrap me up…" you try to add tune to the words but your voice cracks.
"Unfold me… I am small.. And needy…" Your voice keeps fading away against the blaring sirens. They're almost here. "Warm me up… And breathe me." And then you turn and vomit what little is left in your stomach, your tears still coming strong. They slide down your cheeks, making your whole face feel like a damp sponge. You sniffle again, struggling to breathe through the mess your body is making.
Then you turn to see the ambulance rounding the corner and screeching to a stop. You stand, barely able to hang up the phone and shove it into your pocket. The clothed medics jump from the back of the truck and hurry over to you and Dave. One pulls you aside to ask you questions, but you focus on the others examining the crumpled heap of flesh and blood that is your friend.
The woman in the vest asks you questions and you answer them absent mindedly. You're too busy looking around her as the others put a neck brace on Dave and wincing at every little touch. She finishes her questions and gives you a shock blanket, sitting you on the sidewalk. You'd wonder why a blanket would help with shock, but you're too busy watching them maneuver a stretcher over to Dave. They gather around him and you swear you can't move. Then their hands are on him and they're lifting him onto the stretcher and extending the foldable legs of the thing.
You jump when you feel a hand on your shoulder and look up to see Bro. His voice is carefully steady.
"Come on kid, we're gonna follow them to the hospital in my car." You nod and stand on shaking legs. You follow him to his small truck and climb in, clutching the blanket around you. Bro gets in smoothly and turns the key in the ignition, setting the engine rumbling. He backs out of the lot and turns left. You look around, confused.
"But the ambulance went-" you're cut off by him.
"They're not gonna let us drive through a crime scene. We have to go this way to get there." You nod, understanding, and buckle your seatbelt. You sink into the seat and stare out the window, trying not to think of anything. Especially not what just happened.
When you two finally pull into the hospital lot and park, Bro is out of the car before you can even unbuckle. He waits for you impatiently and then you both scurry inside. You're told to wait a few minutes.
The few minutes turn into half an hour and then an hour. You call your dad to tell him what happened and that you probably won't be home tonight. He says he understands and to give David his best wishes.
You start to get nervous. Then an overweight nurse comes out from behind the desk with a clipboard and tells you both that he's ready to be seen. Bro is up faster than you, but you both hurry into the small room. There are beeping machines and a tube going into Dave's arm. He's covered in a blanket and bandaged. You go straight to his bedside while Bro stands in the doorway, his face stoic.
You stand there dumbly for a moment before collapsing into the chair beside the cot and leaning against it for support. You openly weep. It's the only other sound beside the shuffling of doctors and the bleeping of the machine.
You know this wouldn't have happened if you had just left him. This is all your fault.