Goddamnit, don't ever do that to me again. Do you have any idea how scary that was for me? I thought I was going to lose you. I mean, your heart stopped. I couldn't feel it tapping against your ribs like it's supposed to, I couldn't find your pulse anywhere, I couldn't hear it beating when I tried to listen. You weren't breathing.
I don't remember most of what happened, but I do remember repeatedly shoving on your sternum. Every time I forced it to dip low beneath my hands, I felt something crack inside you, and I was so certain I was making things worse. Just look at you, your chest is black and blue from my ministrations. At least none of your ribs broke. Maybe that means I wasn't pushing hard enough.
And I know nowadays they say you're not supposed to breathe for someone when that happens, because you're sending carbon dioxide into their lungs instead of air. But I thought to myself, "Fuck it, it probably can't hurt, right?" Besides, your chest was so still when I paused compressions. It was scary, and I needed to see it move. So I tilted your head back, like in those videos they showed us in high school. Remember those? They should have used hotter actors, in my opinion. Maybe I would have paid more attention to them. Anyways, I had paid enough attention to remember to press my lips to yours and breathe into you hard enough to fill your lungs. It was a relief to see your chest expand, even if it wasn't moving on its own.
I probably shared too many breaths with you, but after I exhaled, when I pulled away and your ribs collapsed, it... I won't lie to you, it felt good. Not just because I could pretend you were breathing for yourself, but because no matter how hard I tried to convince myself you were fine, part of me knew you were entirely dependent on me to make your chest rise and fall. And after I realized that, and I resumed working on your heart, I was beginning to enjoy it, as strange as it sounds. Your heart was completely helpless, and I was pumping it for you. It needed me. It needed me to compress it with all my weight, to force the blood through your system. It needed me to release it, allowing it to fill with blood before I slammed down on your sternum again, and again, and again.
Of course, I knew you were in danger, and I was so frightened and worried, but I couldn't help the way being in control of your failing pump sent my own heart racing. I remember wishing I could have shared some of my adrenaline with you. Maybe that would have kickstarted your arrested heart.
I don't know what finally did it in the end, but eventually your heart twitched. The heels of my hands were buried so deep in your chest, it felt like I was holding it as it convulsed weakly. I was so relieved, I almost wasn't even disappointed to have to let up on the pressure, allowing you to draw in a rattling breath. I kept my hands on you; I remember feeling your heart stumble over a few beats before finding its proper rhythm. I almost wasn't sad to have to relinquish my control over it.
Even so, I mean it when I say I was terrified, and I'm so happy I was able to bring you back. Promise me your heart won't stop again. Well... unless I decide I want it to. ♡
