When blood pays debts, there is no forgiveness.
That's, why we're here now.
The paramedics force a mobile hospital bed through the doors, leading to the emergency room. They race down the deserted corridor on opposite sides of the bed, looking around for doctors in white coats and asking for their help. As they do so, they try to keep the patient conscious and stable, but it's a losing battle against time.
He has lost a lot of blood, and he is still bleeding.
I follow them down the corridor, right on their heels, with only one thought in my head. I can't lose him. Not now. Not like this. Unlike the deserted hospital corridors, the emergency area is bustling with people: doctors, nurses and orderlies. I shout at the people around me, to get out of my way, demanding to see a doctor. I need someone, to do their fucking job and save the life of the patient on the hospital bed.
I can't lose him! I just can't!
The paramedics stops, and a woman in a white coat comes running up to the stretcher. A doctor. I step closer, to hear what they're saying, while holding his hand. His hand is cold, too cold, and I don't like it. The doctor takes a quick look at him and makes a diagnosis, acting quickly because she knows, there isn't much time left. She has to stop the bleeding, otherwise, he won't survive. I'm not even talking about internal injuries — I hope he doesn't have any — but looking at him, I find it hard to believe.
„Six," she calls to the paramedics, who pushes the hospital bed before them and they hurry to the operating room. I pick up the pace to follow them, but the doctors stops me.
„You should go tend to your wounds," she urges, examining me. I'm covered in blood from head to toe, and not just my own, but his too. My body is covered in bruises and cuts, and my ribs burn like hell, but I try to push the pain and my exhaustion to the furthest corner of my mind. I can worry about that later. First, I need to know, he's going to survive. If he doesn't, heads are going to fucking roll. Literally.
„I'm fine," I bark at her, scowling. I wriggle out of her grasp and head for room six, ignoring her completely.
„Wait!" the doctor yells behind me, but I don't stop. I'm almost at the door, ready to walk through it.
„You can't go in there!" She stops me, her hand resting on my forearm. I try to slip away, but two other doctors come to her aid and stop me. I think to myself, „Fucking job!" I need to get in! I need to know, what's happening to him.
I want to hold his hand.
I want him to know, that I'm here, with him. That he's not alone.
I lean against the wall opposite the door, my eyes fixed on the small glass window, through which I can see the operating room. I shouldn't really be here, but when the hospital orderlies take another look at me, they decide, it's better not to try my patience. They wouldn't be able to move me anyway. Not by force.
The doctor bursts into the operating room, and then, too many things happen at once.
Chaos.
Every single one of them, in the room, is doing something different. They cut off his clothes, to gain better access to his wounds, which they begin to clean and stitch up to prevent excessive blood loss. They connect him to equipment that monitors his heart activity, blood pressure and oxygen saturation levels. They insert a cannula directly into his vein, so they can administer emergency drugs immediately. It's all happening at once. They fly around his lying body, like bees around a beautifully scented flower, that has already begun to fade.
I stand there with my arms folded across my chest and my back and leg propped against the wall. My head is bowed, as I pray to all the gods I know, that he will survive this. I'm a pure atheist, but right now I'd believe in a fucking unicorn.
Because if I lose him...
If he leaves...
They'll pay the price. They're well aware of it themselves — all those ghosts in white coats, who are afraid to look at me, because they know, who I am. But more importantly, whoever is responsible for all this, will pay. The bastard, who swept us off the road, as though we were dirty rags. The one, who made me pull my lover's body, out of a burning car.
I can still see it.
I can still picture it in front of me. I remember suddenly turning the steering wheel, to avoid the oncoming car. It was moving too fast and was completery merciless.
And still, it wasn't enough. In fact, I now consider my action a mistake. Thanks to my manoeuvre, the car crashed into the side of our car and we started to roll.
He was holding my hand. When I closed my eyes, I could hear his screams echoing through the car. Or was I the one screaming? I definitely remember cursing.
We ended up upside down on the roof. I woke up first and broke free, sliding down just as the car caught fire. I immediately shot out, circled the crumpled sheet metal and pulled it out.
The car didn't explode, until we were far enough away, but I still shielded him with my own body. I called an ambulance, which arrived almost immediately. He opened his eyes for the first time, since the collision — possibly the last time — and from then on, I tried to keep him conscious. The paramedics took over from me in the ambulance and continued to do so all the way to the nearest hospital. They wouldn't let me go, but I threatened them and went with them anyway.
And now I'm standing here. Defenceless, with the world disappearing beneath my feet.
I'm torn from my thoughts by an unceasing, annoying beeping. Looking up at the hall, I see expressions on people's faces, that I'd rather not see. I take my foot off the wall, straighten up and clasp my arms along my body. I walk closer to the door.
One of the nurses is injecting an adrenaline shot into his vein. That doesn't look good. I'm horrified because I recognise the signs of adrenaline being used.
I'll figure out what the constant beeping meant. He's lost his pulse. Fuck, I murmur. I'm going to be sick. They're bringing a defibrillator to his bedside. My eyes widen as I burst in, but no one notices me. All eyes are on him, focused on saving the life of a man, whose heart has just stopped beating.
„Charging!" I hear someone shout, and everyone backs away from his body. „Move," the voice says again, and a thousand volts are released into his body. His body twitches in response. Nothing happens, but my heart pounds wildly and I feel increasingly nervous.
„Charging," the doctor shouts again, and the whole process starts all over again.
And then again.
And again.
I clench my hands into fists. Why did they fucking stop? Why aren't they continuing?
The doctor looks around at the others present, taking in their faces. She sees, what I see in them. Each of them has a defeated look on their face. She glances at the clock hanging over the door, that I'm still standing by. Then she looks at me. Our eyes meet for a second.
I scowl at her and silently tell her in my head, to dare to say the following words.
„Time of death, twenty-three hours and eighteen minutes tonight." Those words turn my world upside down. I relax my clenched fists and my facial muscles loosen. I no longer frown. I rest my clouded eyes on his naked body. My eyebrows rise higher and my mouth drops open. A tear rolls down my cheek as I realise, what has happened here.
... ༺༻ ...
BLOOD DEBT (피의 빚)