"C'est un S.O.S., je suis touchée, je suis à terreEntends-tu ma détresse, y a t-il quelqu'un?Je sens qu'j'me perds"*

Indila_French singer

Ethan 

I don't know why I thought my heart problem would stop bothering me just because I got shot.

Maybe I tricked myself into thinking that the organ would be lenient and realize "Hey, let's give this poor Ethan a break since he nearly escaped death already."

But nope. I'm no such lucky man.

Ever since I got the diagnosis last month, there's been only one question playing on a loop in my mind: how do I tell this to my mother?

I kept pushing back the dreadful conversation by jumping on every little excuse related to work. Whenever she called complaining that I never stop by I always told her that I'm working on a journalist investigation that might be a breakout in my career. LIES. I don't even feel bad about hiding my diagnosis from her, I know for a fact that my mother will be more affected by the news of my sickness than I am.

The irony in all of this is that on the day I got shot, I planned on finally telling my mother the truth. Of course, I would have found a way to break out the news without making it sound like a big deal, though knowing my mother even if I had just told her that I had caught the flu she would've started panicking so a life threatening disease...

However before I had a chance to tell her I found myself on a hospital bed, with my arm hurting like it had been set on fire.

I could've not done this to Mom. She had almost lost her son, how could I tell her that she might lose me again?

"Oh my God..."

The gasp makes me lift my head in the direction of the dining room's entrance and I notice Norabel standing there eyes widened in shock taking in the carnage that happen not too long ago.

Shards of broken glass bowls are scattered on the floor drowning in a pool of now cold broth spilled almost everywhere from the table to the fridge, the sliced vegetables that had been part of the dish are now a sorry mess waiting to be stepped on.

"It was an accident," I say unnecessarily. I wouldn't do this on purpose but for some reason, I feel the need to justify myself. "I'd just finished preparing lunch when the bowls I carried to the table slipped from my grasp."

I conveniently omit the fact that what made me drop them was the sudden sharp pain biting my heart.

Norabel shifts her attention to where I am, sitting on the floor with my back resting against the fridge behind me.

"I brought the medication," she says, lifting the plastic bag she has in hand. It's branded with the logo of a well-known pharmacy located in Pétion-Ville.

"Thank you."

 Norabel makes her way to me careful not to step into the mess on the floor.

When she hands me the pack I reach for it with my right hand and Norabel's eyes linger on the new bandage wrapped around my arm. 

I suddenly realize that this is the first time she's seen my arm exposed since I'm wearing a sleeveless undershirt. Whenever Mom is around I always made sure to wear shirts with sleeves that cover my arms mainly because I didn't want her to be reminded of that terrible night whenever she saw the bandage.

Judging from the look on Norabel's face she had no idea what happened to me. My mother seems very fond of her so I figured she'd tell her about it during the time they spend together. She didn't.

"I got shot last week," I try to sound casual but Norabel's mouth hangs open when the words come out. "Don't worry that's not why I'm such a mess right now."

She nods before asking, "Do you want some water?"

"I got it, thanks."

I manage to move my body enough to be able to open the fridge door and take a bottle of water out before closing it again.

Norabel stands awkwardly on the side as I swallow the pills she's brought me. When I'm done I put the plastic bag on the floor beside me and chug down almost the entire bottle of water. I hadn't realized I was that thirsty.

I let out a long sigh and lean back against the fridge eyes closed. Now I just have to wait for the medication to take action. I can only hope there won't be any side effects with the antibiotics and pain meds I'm taking because of my wound. Those pills Norabel bought me were prescribed to me the same day I got diagnosed and I took them regularly to keep the symptoms at bay.

My mom was the one who went to take some of my stuff from my apartment when I moved back here so of course she didn't bring my medication because she had no idea that I was taking it. I could've gone back to take it but I stupidly thought that I would be fine for a short while.

The sound of glass clicking against each other catches my attention and when I open my eyes I see Norabel has begun to clean up the mess that I made.

"You can leave that alone. I'll take care of it."

She doesn't stop her task.

"It's okay. I don't mind."

I should just thank her and keep my mouth shut but because I'm me I feel the need to tease her.

"Are you sure? Because I'd hate to make you clean after someone you don't like."

That makes her stop abruptly and she turns to face me.

"Who says I don't like you?"

"You spent this whole week avoiding me. Even when you're talking to my mom, if I join the conversation you either become silent or excuse yourself. I know how to take a hint."

She looks cornered. She doesn't have anything to say because I'm right.

But it wasn't in my intention to accuse her of anything so I decided to apologize for what happened at the bookshop last Sunday.

"I'm sorry if my intrusive remark about your former relationship made you uncomfortable. I could blame it on my profession for always wanting to figure out things people try to keep hidden but that would be a lame excuse."

Norabel blinks then seems momentarily embarrassed as she averts her gaze.

"You didn't need to apologize," she mumbles. When she looks at me again there's an expression on her face like she also wants to bury the hatchet. "Let's just forget about it okay?"

I offer her a smile and can only hope it doesn't look like a grimace because of the pain still tormenting me. Norabel resumes cleaning and I lean my head back against the fridge with my eyes closed for some reason I feel more at peace.

***

"Are you sleeping?"

A familiar voice gently pulls me away from slumber. My eyes flutter open and land directly on Norabel who's standing on my side. The muscles on my neck are sore from having fallen asleep in such an uncomfortable position.

"I guess I drifted off," I answer straightening myself. "How long was I out?"

"I'd say maybe half an hour? I had the time to finish cleaning and I also made lunch since your previous one went splash." There's humor in her voice and I'm pleasantly surprised to detect it.

I turn my head to notice that indeed the dining room floor is spotless with no trace of the previous catastrophe. I smell the cleaning products that my mother uses in the air but the aroma that makes my stomach grumble comes from the table. Norabel has already set our plates.

"Sounds like your stomach is declaring war," she says. When I look back at her she's smiling. "Come, let's eat."

"You're an angel," I thank her as I stand up.

"Don't be so dramatic," she says under her breath but her pleased expression doesn't escape me.

We eat for a moment in comfortable silence. Halfway through our meal, I notice that Norabel's eyes keep coming back to my arm. She's probably wondering how I got shot but doesn't want to seem intrusive by asking. I decide to tell her just for the sake of making conversation.

"I was driving back to my apartment the night happened," I begin and her attention shifts to my face. "I had just come back from the radio station where I work at, a regular evening. A monstrous traffic awaited me. I was so tired already that I couldn't imagine getting stuck on the road for hours. I took a shortcut. Bad call. Two gunmen were standing on the deserted road gesturing for me to stop and step out of the car.

We all know what would've happened if I'd obeyed. They would have kidnapped me and then asked my mother for money she's never made in her entire life. No way was I going to put her through that nightmare. But then as I kept driving I found myself caught in a conflict. I knew they were going to fire their guns if I made no indication of stopping the car. I had to ask myself: was a kidnapped son better than a dead one? Then again there was the possibility that they could still kill me even if my mother managed somehow to gather the ransom, it wouldn't be the first time it happened.

I kept driving, unable to decide what to do. I didn't have much time. I remember I started counting in my head. I don't know why, maybe I thought that once I reached a certain number the decision I should make would magically pop into my mind.

Eleven seconds. That's how long it took for me to decide. I hit the gas and began zigzagging in the middle of the road to make it more difficult for them to aim straight at me. They fired immediately. I don't know what took over me then, call it adrenaline or survival instinct but I barely registered the sound of the gunshots. I couldn't duck for cover because I had to keep my eyes on the road. If I lost control of that car for even a second I was done for.

They hit me twice on the same arm. Later the doctor would tell me that one of the bullets went straight in and out of the flesh, the wound that caused the most damage and the other one grazed me. He also said it was a miracle that no bones were damaged.

I don't know how I managed to keep driving with my arm in that state. There are no words to describe the pain of receiving a bullet. I think my brain just shut down from that point on because afterward, I don't remember much. I suppose I lost the two men eventually and parked somewhere. I couldn't see anything outside of the car, it was completely dark.

I was alone. Stuck in the middle of nowhere, clutching my bleeding arm, the cries of pain coming out of my mouth seemed inhuman like a wounded animal on the verge of trespassing. Now that I wasn't escaping death the adrenaline had subsided and I felt everything a thousandfold. I didn't even think about taking my phone to make a call. All I could focus on was the pain. Movies make being shot look so simple but this shit hurts like hell, I'm telling you.

I suppose that someone might have heard me cry out and that's how they eventually found my car but I can't say for sure because I passed out. The next time I opened my eyes, I was lying in a hospital bed."

I finally close my mouth when I reach the end. All this time I'd be recounting that dreadful night I kept my eyes on my plate even if I wasn't eating. When I finally lift my head I discover Norabel looking at me with tears streaming down her face. I'm taken aback by the ravaged emotion haunting her eyes. I'm not even sure she realizes that she's crying.

"I'm happy you made it out alive," she brokenly whispers.

Something inside my chest stirs me awake.

I can feel that she truly means it.

***Chapter End Notes***

"It's an S.O.S., I'm touched. I'm down. Do you hear my distress, is there anyone? I feel that I am losing myself."

Song : S.O.S by Indila released in 2014.