Harley kneels before Brit, putting pressure on the girl’s torse in attempt to stop the flow and making sure that she’s still breathing while she waits for someone to arrive. Where was this dumb ambulance? She prays, no she begs, to everyone or anyone that will listen to her pleading.
Please live, please.
Before she realises what’s happening she’s being shoved aside, she falls from her crouch into a sitting position. Merrit. In the brief second it takes for them to look between Brit and herself she registers all the emotions that pass their face-
Horror, panic, fear, and then anger.
And then she’s suffocating with fears of her own. They couldn’t possibly think she’d do this? Something so monsterous? Who did it shouldn’t even matter at that moment, it was done, and Brit was beyond hurt. They needed to help her, not blame. But emotions are a mystery and uncontrollable, and she can’t breathe. Shock, and overwhelming fears. “I- I- you don’t- How-” she scrambles away from the raging figure, tries to choke out the words and if she doesn’t do it soon it’s quite possible that they will choke her, especially judging by the look on their face. The words come out all at once in a half-cry “I didn’t do this! I called you!” and she’s breathing again- in short, ragged, hysterical breaths.
“The…ambulance…on the…way” the words come between the breaths. “I- I… tried to stop… “ Her scarf lay under the other’s jacket, the corner of the wool visible and now coloured red where it used to be lght blue. There was so much blood. On her hands, on their hands, on the ground, on the dying girl’s face.
“What- What do we do?”
Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. A mantra in their mind, chanting the words louder and louder with every second Merrit watched the life drain from the girl’s face. Damn it, damnit, damnitdamnitdamnitdamnit. Hadn’t they just been with Brit? Hadn’t they just seen her? Couldn’t she have stayed with them, couldn’t they have stuck around her for a moment longer? Damn it. Who could’ve possibly been able to take the moment between Merrit’s meeting with the bleeding, horribly injured girl beneath their grasp, and very nearly made it their last? Damn it. Damn it.
Damn it.
The choking, stuttering cries of the girl fallen alongside them wasn’t much of a help to the mind already whirring with adrenaline, the panic that was only augmented with every-- bloody-- sniffling-- breath-- taken---
“Shut. Up.”
The words were snapped, short, and ablaze with an anger directed to the very chill in the air, itself. Eyes wild in their fear, in their very frustration, flash over towards the sniffling blonde, a shaking, bloodied hand raising to brush the fringe from before their gaze. “Stutters about what you tried to do isn’t sewing on any more minutes to her fucking life, so stop sobbing into your goddamn sleeve and do something that isn’t just a fucking trial.”
Quick. Quick. They knew what to do, didn’t they? They had to have some inkling, there had to be something that would help--- something they read, something they learned. Chapters after chapters of attack and injury flash through their mind, the inked-in passages whirling in a scramble with the panicked thoughts, rendering them almost impossible to recall as their gaze falls back to a face paler than any set of snow Merrit had seen in their life. They were losing time.
“Lift her legs, try to get her hips raised and across your lap. Whatever blood’s left in her needs to reach her chest and her head-- Now.” Dark-capped fingers flash to gingerly wrap around a waist soaked through with crimson, tightening the hold of the jacket around the deep, deep gashes. Focus, Merrit. Hands under her lower back, lift her up onto the girl’s lap, lift her up onto your own lap. The scarf would do better to cushion her head than anything, the soft material too ruined to make much hold wrapped around a wound. Hell.. Would their jacket even be enough? Damn it, damn it--
Damn it.
