Chapter One: Scarlett

CHAPTER ONE

                 I hear footsteps, the click of the doorknob moving, and a scream. It wasn’t the happy type of scream, but the blood-curdling scream that makes every hair on your body prick up. And it wasn’t a girl screaming, but a young man. I heard the slight crack in his voice, the tremor of his body. It was enough to send shivers up my spine.

                That is if I could feel my spine at the moment. At that time, I was leaning against the wall, half unconscious. For once I felt no pain, and what a magical feeling it was. I felt numb to the world, at least until the boy came. Then I felt an ache coming from my stomach, like I had never felt before.

                I heard a groan escape from my mouth as I tried to twist my body into a different position. I honestly wondered if I was in hell at that moment, the pain was so immense. I felt a strange warm feeling wash over me followed by a light-headed sensation.

I felt as though everything was moving in slow motion. At one moment, the boy was turning the doorknob, and then he stood there for a moment. Next thing I noticed, he was floating towards me, shaking my shoulders. I tried to tell him I was fine as I tried to stand up to prove it. He grabbed my shoulders and held them still, ruining any chance as moving. With one hand on my shoulder still, I watched as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. He rushed as he dialed the number.  I recognized the tone of the three numbers he pressed- I knew them all too well: 911.

                “Listen, I need someone right away-no, no, not for me. There’s a girl in the lobby bathroom of the Trump International, 1 Central Park West. Look you really need to hurry, there’s a lot of blood.” That was the last I heard him say, but mostly I was surprised by his accent. I suppose he was british, and in my last moment of consciousness, I thought about how cute he must be. I slowly drifted out of consciousness, still aware of some random boy’s arms around me, telling me to stay awake.

                As the blackness took over me, I heard the strangest thing- the boy began to sing.

                He began to hum my favorite song, conveniently, and a very ironic song for the moment. The words of “Fix You” by Coldplay escaped his lips and entered my ears, consuming me. His voice sounded so angelic at that moment. It warmed me and helped me to open my eyes. Through my warped vision, I could see the slight curl to his chestnut hair and how the light glistened off each strand as he turned his head. It was carelessly yet perfectly pushed to the side, each curl cascading and delicately surrounding his features.

 I sensed him staring at me, though I couldn’t tell. I was hypnotized by his surprisingly long eyelashes, how they curled at such an unnatural angle. His skin was flawless, the stubble on his chin apparent, as though he could care less if he looked straggly. It was almost endearing to find someone who could care less what other people thought of them. I was completely captivated by his appearance for a long while.

                I felt half alive at that moment; that they only thing holding me down from escaping existence was the boys brawny arms curled around my shoulders, cupping my hands in his. I felt the back and forth movements he made as we slowly rocked back and forth to the tune of the song.

                 In a trance, I imagined us under a gazebo wrapped in Christmas lights and with his strong hands on my waist, he pulled me close. I felt the fabric of my dress around my ankles as we danced under the twinkling lights to a song I didn’t even know. With my head by his heart and his on my shoulder, I felt as though everything was perfect for once.

                As though it was by cue, I was awakening from my dream.  I heard the boom of sirens and the yelling of men.  No sooner that I heard the sirens I felt the boy release me from his hold. I remembered feeling cold at that moment, missing the boy’s presence.

 I soon recognized the hands of multiple people across my body, but they were nothing like the boys. Their hands were cold as a winter’s night, causing goosebumps to rise on my pale skin. Suddenly hands were cupped around my neck, lower back, and feet as I was lifted into an ambulance.

A mask was placed upon my face, constricting my nose. I felt the push of air into my lungs and the strong stench of plastic. It was downright miserable to be quite honest. Miserable and tired, I awaited the arrival to the hospital.

Though I was only half conscious, I easily recognized what was happening around me.

                The noise of the hospital was deafening, but I couldn’t make my hands move to cover my ears. I heard shrieks of woman and men, the loud thumps of feet on cement flooring. Throughout the whole ideal,  I was relieved to still hear the british boy yelling at the doctor. Though I couldn’t understand a word he said, I hoped that he was standing up for me and protecting me.  I realized a warm hand was wrapped in mine, its fingers entwined.

                The gurney was still moving, as I could hear the passing noise of people as we continued on through the building. I could barely make out the words of the boy. “You’re going to be fine, honey. I promise.” The warmth of his words flooded my body, and once again I felt my heart pick up it’s pace.

                The movement stopped and I felt subtle pricks into my arms. I tried to swat them away, but I felt something holding each of my wrists down, along with fabric covering them. A beeping sound began to resonate in my ears, though the beeping began to slow as time continue. A sinking sensation came over me and, with great sadness filling his voice, a man said: “I don’t think she’s going to make it.”  I heard the boy’s rib cage rattle as his lungs struggled to take a breath. He made a choking noise and let out a deep sob.

And I will try, to fix you.