25
CLAIRE
Okay, Claire, pull it together.
You can do this.
I rush down the stairs and do the thing I always see people do in movies—I check for a pulse. I place my fingers under his neck and feel the slow but steady thumping of blood rushing through his veins.
I let out a breath. He’s still alive.
But for the life of me, I don’t know whether that’s a good or bad thing. And that thought alone sends a shiver down my spine.
I drag my phone out of my pocket and dial those three numbers that I learned before I knew my own phone number.Emergencies only, we were told.
Right now, the situation seems pretty fitting.
A calm female voice answers. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“I, um, I need an ambulance. My, my boyfriend,ex-boyfriend, he’s fallen down the stairs. He’s in bad shape.”
“Okay, what’s your name?”
“Claire.”
“Claire, is he conscious?” The clicking of a keyboard sounds in the background.
“No.”
“Is he breathing?”
I stare at his chest to find the rise and fall of life. “Yes.”
“Claire, you’re listed at eighty-eight Germain Street. Is that correct?”
“I—I think so. Yeah.”
“There’s a unit in your area, they’re already on the way. I’m going to ask you a few more questions.”
“Okay.” I’m a terrible liar, what if I say the wrong thing?
“How old is he?”
“Um, twenty-one.”
“And his name?”
“Griffin Thomas.”
Sirens go off in the distance and get louder and louder by the second.
“Claire, are you injured?”
I glance down at my forearms. They’re red and bruised already, and on one spot, there’s dried blood from his fingernails cutting into my skin. “Not really.”
“Is there anyone else there with you?”
“No.” I guess when it comes to Johnny, protecting him comes naturally. He has enough going on, and the look on his face after he shoved Griffin down the stairs told me that he couldn’t afford the risk of getting caught.