Chapter 62: "Barely Breathing"
Jasmine's heart pounded as she sprinted up the front steps. The door was unlocked. That was the first bad sign.
She pushed it open, calling out, "Zariah?"
No answer.
She stepped inside. The living room was dim, quiet. Too quiet. A glass was tipped on its side on the kitchen counter. Zariah's bag was on the floor. Her hoodie — the one she always wore when she was hiding something — was balled up on the couch.
"Zariah!" she called again, louder now. Her voice cracked.
Then she saw it — a faint red trail on the floor. Barely visible. Just enough to stop her heart.
She followed it.
The bathroom door was shut, but the light was on. Jasmine knocked, panic crawling up her throat. "Zariah, open the door. Please."
No response.
She jiggled the handle. Locked.
"Zariah—don't do this, please don't."
Still nothing.
Jasmine's breaths came faster. She backed up, then slammed her shoulder into the door. Once. Twice. On the third hit, the door burst open with a crack.
She froze.
Zariah was on the floor, slumped against the cabinet, pale and barely conscious. Her arm was soaked in blood. The blade lay beside her, crimson and cruel.
Jasmine dropped to her knees, her hands shaking.
"Zariah!" she cried out, grabbing a towel and pressing it against the wound. "No, no, no, stay with me. Please—stay with me."
Zariah blinked slowly. Her lips moved, but no sound came.
"Shh, it's okay. I got you. I got you," Jasmine whispered, even though she didn't feel okay at all. Her own tears were falling hard now, dripping onto Zariah's face. "You're not leaving me. You hear me? You're not leaving me."
With one hand still pressing on the wound, Jasmine fumbled for her phone and dialed emergency services. Her voice trembled as she gave the address, her words barely coherent through her sobs.
The operator stayed on the line.
"She's breathing," Jasmine said. "But barely. She needs help. Please hurry."
The next few minutes felt like hours.
She held Zariah tightly, whispering anything that came to mind — jokes, memories, desperate promises.
"You're not alone. You're not. I'm right here."
Zariah's eyes fluttered open for a moment. Her lips parted.
"…I'm sorry."
Jasmine shook her head, crying harder. "Don't be. Just stay with me. That's all I want."
The sound of sirens split the silence.
Moments later, the front door flew open and medics rushed in. Jasmine moved back only when they took over, tears streaking her face, blood on her hands and knees.
They lifted Zariah onto a stretcher, her eyes half-lidded, her body limp. Jasmine followed them out, refusing to leave her side.
As the ambulance doors closed behind them, Jasmine grabbed Zariah's hand and held on.
She didn't know what tomorrow would bring. She didn't know what Zariah would wake up to.
But she knew this — she would not let her go.
Not now. Not ever.