The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 514

The motion-sensor lights down the hallway flickered on one after another, their harsh, pale glow stretching out like an endless tunnel.

The metal wheels of the gurney rattled loudly against the floor, a frantic, thunderous noise that mixed with the chaotic footsteps and sharp commands of the medical staff, echoing through the empty corridor.

"Out of the way! Move!"

Garrison lay on the gurney, propelled quickly down the hall.

He was covered in blood. The paramedics had cut away his ruined white shirt, exposing a massive expanse of bruised, swollen flesh across his chest.

An oxygen mask was strapped tightly to his face, the elastic bands digging into his swollen cheekbones. A thin layer of condensation fogged the inside of the mask, rising and falling with his agonizing breaths.

Sloane, Wyatt, and Cassandra sprinted after them.

The makeshift bandages Cassandra had tied around Sloane's wrists were already soaked through. Heavy drops of blood fell from her fingertips, leaving a broken red trail across the stark white floor.

She didn't feel the pain. She couldn't feel anything at all. Her entire world had narrowed down to the face on that gurney—his eyes were closed, his eyelashes completely still, and his lips beneath the mask were an alarming, ashen gray.

"Garrison—hold on—we're almost there—just a little further—"

Her voice was as rough as sandpaper. Every syllable felt like swallowed glass, but she refused to stop calling his name. She was terrified that if she stopped, he would slip away entirely.

Suddenly, Garrison's body arched violently on the mattress.

His chest convulsed, and a surge of blood erupted from his throat, spraying the inside of his oxygen mask.

The red mist exploded across the transparent plastic, instantly coating the inside and dripping down his cheeks, his neck, and onto the pillow.

"Step back!"

A nurse immediately leaned over to clear his airway, but the blood kept coming, staining his chin a horrifying crimson.

"I'm not his family—" Sloane blurted out, then froze. She wasn't his family. She wasn't his wife, his girlfriend, or anyone to him in a legal sense.

The nurse shook her head and took a step back.

The heavy doors slowly slid shut, swallowing the last sliver of bright light. The red surgical light above the frame flicked on, glaring down like a menacing eye.

The hallway fell into an abrupt, deafening silence.

The three of them stood in the stark quiet, no one speaking a word.

Wyatt slowly slid down the wall. Pressing his back against the freezing tile, he sat on the floor outside the operating room, resting his arms on his knees, his head bowed in deep silence.

After a long moment, he pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket and placed one between his lips.

His hands shook violently. He flicked the lighter twice before it finally sparked on the third try. Taking a deep drag, he exhaled a plume of smoke that drifted up toward the harsh fluorescent lights.