Combative
Page 37
She just shrugged.
Sitting next to me, she rests her head on my shoulder while she waits for me to go through them all.
“You okay?” I ask her.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I’m just tired.”
I kiss her forehead, tasting the sweat that’d formed. She blinks a few times, trying to focus her gaze. “You sure you’re okay?”
She smiles and nods reassuringly. “Let’s just print them and take them home. We can look at them there.”
She sits in silence for a good five minutes while I curse at the photo machine that keeps fucking up and rebooting.
“Ky,” she whispers.
I stab my finger on the touch screen, annoyed at its lack of co-operation.
“Ky,” she says again.
“Yeah?” I answer, distracted.
“I don’t feel well.”
I quickly turn to her.
All color has drained from her and she’s covered in sweat. Her breaths are short and sharp. Her head droops like she doesn’t have the energy to hold it up. I jump out of my seat and squat down in front of her. She struggles to keep her eyes open. “Ky,” she whimpers.
And my heart stops.
“I need...”
“What baby? What do you need?”
She swallows—but it looks like a struggle. “I’m dizzy.”
“Okay.” I try to stay calm—for her. On the inside, I’m breaking. “Let’s just get you home, okay?”
She does her best to nod.
I grasp her hand and try to help her to stand, but she’s dead weight in my arms and falls back in her chair. “Maddy! You have to tell me what to do! What’s wrong? What can I do?”
“I need...”
I hold her head in my hands and search her face. “Need what, Maddy? Talk to me!”
She weeps and pushes my hands away. Then she tries to stand again. She only gets half way before she grasps her seat and uses it to soften her fall to the floor. She lets out another sob.
I link my fingers behind my head and look back down at her. She’s almost lying on the floor now. “I don’t know what to do, Maddy.” I pull out my phone and start to dial 911. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
Her hand shoots up. “No, Ky! Please.” She cries harder.
“Why!”
She shakes her head. “Just, please.”
The store clerk rushes up and stands beside me. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know!” I almost shout. My panic spikes as I see Madison’s eyes start drifting shut. “I don’t know,” I repeat.
The clerk squats in front of her and holds two fingers to her wrist, her other hand going to her forehead.
“What are you doing?” I ask, even though I knew the answer; she’s doing what I should been doing, but I’m too terrified to think straight.
“My name’s Paula,” the clerk says. “I’m pre-med over at Jefferson. I can show you my ID.”
I wave her off. “It’s fine.”
“What’s her name?”
I squat down next to Paula and take Madison’s other hand. I choke on my words, then regain enough composure to answer her. “Madison. Her name’s Madison.”
“Did she tell you if she had trouble breathing?” Paula asks.
“No. She said she was dizzy. She’s sweating though, and she keeps blinking. Does that that help?”
“Madison?” Paula croons, rubbing her hand along Madison’s forehead. “Can you hear me okay?”
Madison lifts her head, then lets it drop again.
“What the fuck is happening to her?”
Paula ignores me, instead ordering me to get a can of soda and an energy bar from the vending machine. I do what she asks, tearing the packet open on the way back.
“Madison?” Paula says again. “Are you diabetic?”
Madison whimpers a ‘yes.’ Then she mumbles something that makes absolutely no sense to me.
Luckily, Paula understands. “Insulin?” she asks, helping Madison sit up. Paula gives her the energy bar.
Madison chews it slowly.
Paula turns to me. “When was she supposed to take her insulin?”
My stomach drops to the floor, along with my knees as I kneel in front of Madison. “Maddy...what are you talking about? What insulin?”
Madison throws her head back, lifting the energy bar and biting into it.
“I didn’t know,” I mumble.
Paula takes the soda and uncaps it, offering it to Madison. “Has she eaten today?”
“I think so. I mean, we skipped lunch—”
“She can’t skip meals if she’s diabetic. This is what happens.”
“I didn’t know,” I repeat, looking back at Madison. “She didn’t tell me.”
Madison’s gaze lifts to mine, her eyes pleading. Her bottom lip quivers as she forces herself to swallow and take a sip of the soda.
“Where’s your insulin?” Paula asks her. “Is it in your bag?”
I turn my back on both of them.
“Apartment,” Madison whispers. And then louder, “Ky?”
“Yeah?” I say, still unable to look at her.
“I’m okay,” she squeaks. “This isn’t your fault.”
My phone sounds, giving me reason to pretend like I didn’t hear her.
Jackson: When are you bringing the car back?
Ky: I can’t. Madison. There’s something wrong with her. I don’t know what to do.
Jackson: Where are you?
Ky: Picture Perfect on Eighth.
When I return my attention to Madison, Paula’s talking to her, “You’ve been out in the sun all day, dehydrated, and you haven’t eaten or had your insulin. This could have been really bad, Madison.”
“I know,” she answers.
Her hands tremble as she brings the soda to her mouth.
Paula stands in front me. “She needs to go home. She needs to eat. And you need to monitor her sugar, make sure it doesn’t spike too high or too low. And you should probably get her a diabetes bracelet, too. Just so people are aware, if or when this happens to her again.”
I try to take in all her words, try to remember in detail everything she just said. “Thank you,” I rush out. “If you weren’t here...I don’t know what the hell I would have done.”
“Hey,” Paula croons, rubbing my arm. “If you don’t know what the signs are, you can’t be expected to know how to react.”
“You’re a life saver.”
She shoves her hands in her back pockets and rocks on her heels. And then she smiles. “You’re welcome...?”
“Ky.”
Her smile gets wider. “It was nice meeting you, Ky. I mean...under the circumstances and all.”
Madison clears her throat; her brow bunched as she looks up at me.
I sigh and sit down next to her.
“You scared me,” I tell her, linking our hands.
She doesn’t respond.
Jackson shows up in a squad car; sirens blaring.
“Why are the cops here?” she asks, clearly panicked.
“It’s just Jax.”
Sitting next to me, she rests her head on my shoulder while she waits for me to go through them all.
“You okay?” I ask her.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I’m just tired.”
I kiss her forehead, tasting the sweat that’d formed. She blinks a few times, trying to focus her gaze. “You sure you’re okay?”
She smiles and nods reassuringly. “Let’s just print them and take them home. We can look at them there.”
She sits in silence for a good five minutes while I curse at the photo machine that keeps fucking up and rebooting.
“Ky,” she whispers.
I stab my finger on the touch screen, annoyed at its lack of co-operation.
“Ky,” she says again.
“Yeah?” I answer, distracted.
“I don’t feel well.”
I quickly turn to her.
All color has drained from her and she’s covered in sweat. Her breaths are short and sharp. Her head droops like she doesn’t have the energy to hold it up. I jump out of my seat and squat down in front of her. She struggles to keep her eyes open. “Ky,” she whimpers.
And my heart stops.
“I need...”
“What baby? What do you need?”
She swallows—but it looks like a struggle. “I’m dizzy.”
“Okay.” I try to stay calm—for her. On the inside, I’m breaking. “Let’s just get you home, okay?”
She does her best to nod.
I grasp her hand and try to help her to stand, but she’s dead weight in my arms and falls back in her chair. “Maddy! You have to tell me what to do! What’s wrong? What can I do?”
“I need...”
I hold her head in my hands and search her face. “Need what, Maddy? Talk to me!”
She weeps and pushes my hands away. Then she tries to stand again. She only gets half way before she grasps her seat and uses it to soften her fall to the floor. She lets out another sob.
I link my fingers behind my head and look back down at her. She’s almost lying on the floor now. “I don’t know what to do, Maddy.” I pull out my phone and start to dial 911. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
Her hand shoots up. “No, Ky! Please.” She cries harder.
“Why!”
She shakes her head. “Just, please.”
The store clerk rushes up and stands beside me. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know!” I almost shout. My panic spikes as I see Madison’s eyes start drifting shut. “I don’t know,” I repeat.
The clerk squats in front of her and holds two fingers to her wrist, her other hand going to her forehead.
“What are you doing?” I ask, even though I knew the answer; she’s doing what I should been doing, but I’m too terrified to think straight.
“My name’s Paula,” the clerk says. “I’m pre-med over at Jefferson. I can show you my ID.”
I wave her off. “It’s fine.”
“What’s her name?”
I squat down next to Paula and take Madison’s other hand. I choke on my words, then regain enough composure to answer her. “Madison. Her name’s Madison.”
“Did she tell you if she had trouble breathing?” Paula asks.
“No. She said she was dizzy. She’s sweating though, and she keeps blinking. Does that that help?”
“Madison?” Paula croons, rubbing her hand along Madison’s forehead. “Can you hear me okay?”
Madison lifts her head, then lets it drop again.
“What the fuck is happening to her?”
Paula ignores me, instead ordering me to get a can of soda and an energy bar from the vending machine. I do what she asks, tearing the packet open on the way back.
“Madison?” Paula says again. “Are you diabetic?”
Madison whimpers a ‘yes.’ Then she mumbles something that makes absolutely no sense to me.
Luckily, Paula understands. “Insulin?” she asks, helping Madison sit up. Paula gives her the energy bar.
Madison chews it slowly.
Paula turns to me. “When was she supposed to take her insulin?”
My stomach drops to the floor, along with my knees as I kneel in front of Madison. “Maddy...what are you talking about? What insulin?”
Madison throws her head back, lifting the energy bar and biting into it.
“I didn’t know,” I mumble.
Paula takes the soda and uncaps it, offering it to Madison. “Has she eaten today?”
“I think so. I mean, we skipped lunch—”
“She can’t skip meals if she’s diabetic. This is what happens.”
“I didn’t know,” I repeat, looking back at Madison. “She didn’t tell me.”
Madison’s gaze lifts to mine, her eyes pleading. Her bottom lip quivers as she forces herself to swallow and take a sip of the soda.
“Where’s your insulin?” Paula asks her. “Is it in your bag?”
I turn my back on both of them.
“Apartment,” Madison whispers. And then louder, “Ky?”
“Yeah?” I say, still unable to look at her.
“I’m okay,” she squeaks. “This isn’t your fault.”
My phone sounds, giving me reason to pretend like I didn’t hear her.
Jackson: When are you bringing the car back?
Ky: I can’t. Madison. There’s something wrong with her. I don’t know what to do.
Jackson: Where are you?
Ky: Picture Perfect on Eighth.
When I return my attention to Madison, Paula’s talking to her, “You’ve been out in the sun all day, dehydrated, and you haven’t eaten or had your insulin. This could have been really bad, Madison.”
“I know,” she answers.
Her hands tremble as she brings the soda to her mouth.
Paula stands in front me. “She needs to go home. She needs to eat. And you need to monitor her sugar, make sure it doesn’t spike too high or too low. And you should probably get her a diabetes bracelet, too. Just so people are aware, if or when this happens to her again.”
I try to take in all her words, try to remember in detail everything she just said. “Thank you,” I rush out. “If you weren’t here...I don’t know what the hell I would have done.”
“Hey,” Paula croons, rubbing my arm. “If you don’t know what the signs are, you can’t be expected to know how to react.”
“You’re a life saver.”
She shoves her hands in her back pockets and rocks on her heels. And then she smiles. “You’re welcome...?”
“Ky.”
Her smile gets wider. “It was nice meeting you, Ky. I mean...under the circumstances and all.”
Madison clears her throat; her brow bunched as she looks up at me.
I sigh and sit down next to her.
“You scared me,” I tell her, linking our hands.
She doesn’t respond.
Jackson shows up in a squad car; sirens blaring.
“Why are the cops here?” she asks, clearly panicked.
“It’s just Jax.”
