Page 74 of The Trouble with Love and Ink
“I’ll go to the lobby. See if they have a first-aid kit and find out where the closest hospital is,” Gabe said, pointing a thumb back towards the hut where the rest of the group had gone for breakfast.
I watched the blood roll down my arm and coat the rocks below. My stomach lurched.
“Can you stand?” Beck asked.
I tried to say something, but my jaw felt clumsy, my lips numb.
When I didn’t answer, he wrapped one hand around my uninjured forearm and put the other on my back, guiding me to my feet. As carefully and slowly as he did, I still felt the color drain from my face.
Someone joined us on the pathway, but registering the form as Nick took me a while. My vision had narrowed, and I felt like I was looking at everything through a straw.
“Hey,” Nick said, “what happened?”
Beck turned to meet him, filling Nick in about my spill, but I hardly heard a thing over the ringing in my ears. The humid morning air turned unbearably hot. Thirst blazed down my throat and across my chest, making me feel nauseous. Bloodless.
I knew this feeling. And if I’d been thinking clearly, I would have sat back down on the rocks or clued Beck in.
But I wasn’t thinking clearly. Oxygen wasn’t venting properly anywhere in my body, the least of which to my brain. Because I just knew I needed to get inside to A/C and water and a chair. And I needed to get there now. I took a step backward toward the hut.
Beck’s explanation to Nick halted. He looked at me, his brows furrowed. I could barely see him—my vision had narrowed so much.
“Emily?”
My heel edged another step back, and I plunged into darkness.
I could hear the voices long before I could see anything. At first, it was muffled and incoherent, and there were noises of scrambling before my hearing sharpened.
“Help!” Beck’s voice, I thought. It sounded so far away. What’s wrong with him? I should help him. Everything felt numb, fuzzy, disconnected.
“Lay her down flat.” Nick’s voice.
Then some movement from a soft surface to a hard one. “She didn’t hit her head, did she?”
Someone grabbed my arm. Checking my pulse, I realized, the thought floating by like a distant cloud.
“No.”
“Is she diabetic? On any new medications?”
“No, and I don’t think so.” Beck’s voice. Then a pause. “She has a history of fainting, though.”
He said it like a final clue had clicked into place—as though he’d been staring at a small picture but had finally backed up enough to see the complete photo montage. And he wasn’t enjoying the view.
“It’s always the redheads,” Nick muttered.
“Nick, her lips are gray.” Beck sounded unhinged.
“Jake!” Nick ordered. “Go tell the staff to call 9-1-1. Or whatever the hell it is in this country.”
That did it.
“No! I’m fine!” My voice surprised me. It was detached like everyone else’s. “I’m a fainter,” I slurred, wading through the confusion. “It’s what I do.”
Someone close let out a breath. I tried to sit up, but hands on my shoulders kept me pinned.
“Don’t try to move,” Beck said softly.
My vision returned. Everything was too bright at first. I blinked until my eyes adjusted, and I found Beck overhead, eyes red-rimmed and jaw clenched. He looked over his shoulder.
