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purple.
     
    Then it all comes crashing back to me, and where I’d been frozen before, I’m now moving on autopilot.
     
    Turn off the water. Crawl into the tub with him. Press my fingers to the side of his neck.
     
    Pulse is there, slow, but still steady.
     
    I slap his cheek.
     
    “Wake up, Ryan!” I shake him roughly. “Wake up.”
     
    He doesn’t respond.
     
    But he’s breathing, though it’s very shallow. He’d cut himself deep, but not deep enough to kill. I hope.
     
    Leaning back against the tub, I cradle his body between my legs and pull my phone out of my pocket, punching in 9-1-1 immediately.
     
    “911, what’s your emergency?” The woman’s voice sounds bored and robotic.
     
    “Please, please, come quick,” I choke back the sob, “my friend’s bleeding everywhere. He cut his wrists.”
     
    “Okay, ma’am,” she instructs patiently, “do you know where he’s injured?”
     
    I pat his body, looking for the source, finally seeing the thick slashes across both wrists. “He slit his wrists,” my voice stutters.
     
    “It’s okay,” she soothes, “now, what I want you to do is to apply some pressure, can you do that?”
     
    “Yes,” a sob rips from me. Grabbing his hands, I take them between my own, but he’s so big and slippery and I’m already holding onto the phone, so I mush them against my breasts. “I did it.”
     
    “Good. Now where do you live?”
     
    “Oh my God, I don’t know. This is their house. Oh please, hurry.”
     
    “No problem, ma’am. What’s his name?”
     
    “It’s Ryan. Ryan Cosgrove.”
     
    ***
     
    Ryan
     

     
    I hear things. Strange sounds. Beeps and whooshes.
     
    That’s the first thing I remember.
     
    The second thing is the pain that’s running like fire across my body, but mostly through my wrists. It hurts to move too much, but I do manage to peek. They’re bound and wrapped with hospital tape. Red spots dot the center of each.
     
    “He’s waking up.”
     
    I recognize Alex and I moan.
     
    “Ryan?” A soft voice, it’s gentle, but the touch against my arm is even softer and it feels so good. I don’t ever want to wake up; I just want to stay in this place, this safe and warm place that doesn’t hurt.
     
    But I can’t, because I’m awake now and I have to see who’s touching me.
     
    It’s the girl from the club. Liliana. Her eyes are so green and huge in her small face. Her skin is more pale than I remember and there are purple spots under her eyes, like she hasn’t slept in a while.
     
    Grunting, I glance down at myself.
     
    There are tubes and wires attached all over me, a heart monitor is hooked up to my chest, and when I flex my hand I feel a needle beneath it. Swallowing with a throat that feels like someone shoved a melon into it, I look at Alex.
     
    His face is grim and his eyes are pissed.
     
    “Damn,” I mutter.
     
    “You damn ingrate,” he grits out, then turns and walks out the room.
     
    Liliana glances over her shoulder, to where he left. I hate that she looks worried. And it bothers me why she’s even here. Does she know what I tried to do?
     
    Turning back to me, she grabs my hand and her fingers are so small I can close my entire fist around them. “He doesn’t mean it, you know. He’s just worried about you.”
     
    She bites her bottom lip and something inside me wants to sooth the frown from between her brows.
     
    “Angel?”
     
    She smiles and it’s breathtaking. Literally takes mine away. I could get used to that smile.
     
    “What are you doing here?”
     
    She cocks her head, a spill of hair falls around her face like a curtain. Thick and brown, it’s gorgeous, a part of me wonders what it smells like. I love women’s hair, love the way it smells so good and looks so pretty and hers is the nicest I’ve seen.
     
    “I’ve been here every day.”
     
    Every day? My heart stutters at that. “How long have I been here?”
     
    She crosses her legs and taps her finger on