Page 77 of Forbidden Eyes
“I’ll never go anywhere with you again. You think you can hit me and beat up my boyfriend and then click your fingers? No, Dad.”
“Sofia Vico!” His bellowing voice sends a shock wave through the cavernous space. My grip tightens as tremors attack my hand. “You’ll have to shoot me to get me to leave you here. Think about that.”
I do. I’ve been shown and taught how to shoot since I was fourteen. I hated it. I never thought I’d be in a position where I’d need a gun, but it was another element of protection that I was wrapped in. My eyes close and for a moment, I’m torn. But Carter doesn’t have moments. He needs help now and nobody is coming.
My thumb presses down on the safety and my palm pulls back on the slide to chamber the bullet. I wrap my finger around the trigger and look up to see my father still standing. Still waiting. When I raise the gun this time, the tremor isn’t just in my hands, but my whole body shakes.
“You’ll never be able to shoot me. This is your last chance, Sofia. Get up and—”
The recoil is bigger than expected and it jolts my body. It all happens in a second. My eyes lift up to see if I missed, but I already know I didn’t. Men come running and surround my father, one of them with a gun trained on me. We stay locked in each other’s gaze, his hand putting pressure to his right ear. It was just a graze. A warning shot. At least, that’s what I repeat to myself because a few centimetres and he wouldn’t be standing.
"Try it," I grit, flicking my face to the other man aiming at me, and then back to my father.
They all start pulling on him to get him out of the door, but all I can see is the shock on his face turning to full on hatred, rage even. Still, I refuse to budge or even give an inch in this matter. He needs to leave, to go and never come back. If I have to, I'll shoot him again to prove my point and make it count more than I have.
Finally, he lets them move him away from us, and my sigh is audible as I sag in relief. I toss the gun away and return to Carter, desperate to get him some help.
I pat down his pockets, looking for the kit he carried with his insulin shot but it’s not on him. My eyes roam the floor in case it fell out in the fight, but I’m not so lucky. The only thing I find is his phone.
I fumble with it and dial 911 as fast as my fingers will allow.
“Ambulance. I need an ambulance. Please. He’s a diabetic, and he’s been in a fight…” I rush the words out as soon as I’m connected.
“Ma’am, can you give us your location?”
“At the docks somewhere. In Miami. Hurry, he’s not breathing.”
“Stay on the line. We’ll need to trace the location of your call. Can you perform CPR? The ambulance is on route.”
“Yes…” I throw the phone to the ground and look at Carter’s chest. I visualise the position and start to press down on his chest. Although, I know what he needs is sugar. Something. I stop and check for a pulse. It’s faint, but there’s something.
“Help’s on the way. Carter, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Just hold on, okay? I won’t let you die because of me.” I squeeze his hand before I look around the warehouse again.
I look down at Carter and inch my hand out to hold his bloodied knuckle. A low gurgle comes from Carter’s throat as if he’s attempting to suck in air. He needs sugar. This isn’t just the beating; this is his diabetes.
“Help is coming. Please, just hold on. I’ll be right back. I promise.” I pick up the phone and check the line is still connected before rushing to the door. I pause and peer through to check if Dad really has fled or is waiting for me, but there’s no one around. We’re alone. Against my better judgement, I take a guarded step from the building and listen. No shadow, no hand reaching out to grab me. My cautious behaviour frustrates me because Carter doesn’t have time for it.
There’s a bunch of other, smaller warehouses in sight as I exit. My legs race off in the direction of the closest one, hoping that there might be someone else who could help. A medical box, a chocolate bar. “Help me! Somebody!” My screams carry ahead of me, hopefully alerting somebody to my situation, but there’s nobody—nothing to see. I turn the corner around one building and run straight into a vending machine. Rows and rows of snacks and drinks look out at me, taunting me. I barge into the thing hoping to dislodge something, but they all just wobble in their tidy homes.
Helplessness weighs me down as I think of a plan, but it’s taking too long. It’s been too long. Every second I’m away from Carter, he’s struggling to stay alive. I need to keep him that way. I take a step back from the machine, raise my knee and smash my foot into the glass. My foot splinters the protective housing, and I stumble through the remains of the glass and the metal edging. I grab the first bottle of soda I can and then sprint back to Carter, ignoring the pain in my calf.
“Here. Here.” I skid to a halt next to him, drop the phone and open the bottle, lifting his head so I can pour some liquid down his throat. I have no idea if it will help, but it’s got to do something.
I repeat the action, forcing his mouth open, pouring some liquid and closing his lips to force the sugary medicine into his body.
Finally, I hear the siren of an ambulance. The sobs I tried to bury a few moments ago break free now that I can hear that help is coming. I don’t have the strength to stop them. Carter’s head rests in my lap, and I pray he can hold on long enough.
The whine of the sirens continues until they are right outside and two EMTs come running towards us.
I pocket the phone and step away from Carter’s body, giving them room to work. “He’s a diabetic,” I sputter to the first guy.
“Type?”
“Oh, God. I don't know. He's… he takes insulin. Injections. All his life. But I don't know where…”
My words trail off, as they start checking for vitals and talking to each other, and I drift. I drift away to a place where I’m looking down on what’s happening around me. My arms wrap around me, clutching the warmth I have to my chest. This is all because of me. I did this.
“Miss?”