Dedicated to khadcy247

CHAPTER SIX

FOR A MOMENT THERE, my bloodied hands weakened me. I couldn't move nor think clearly. All I could think of was Irrfan.

My Irrfan with his hard face and kind tawny eyes which are oftentimes expressionless except in those rare moments I'd catch him staring at me as if his life depended on it. He had awakened fiery emotions and touched places within my body and soul which weren't only inappropriate, but was once inconceivable in my mind; it was just one of those things a young unmarried Muslim Hausa girl is supposed not to know, or covert, but with Irrfan, it had felt inevitable, just one look and it was over; all those years of grooming and pruning, he took it all and then he had left me bare, stealing what was left of me with his dying breath. He had died in my arms with his blood scorchingly hot on my hands as it scalded my body and made ashes of my heart. No, this blood couldn't be his, it simply couldn't be. Irrfan was dead.

Whose blood was it then? A voice from deep within my mind questioned. I don't know, another replied. You do know, the voice insisted, just look or he'll die just like Irrfan did, we wouldn't want that now, would we? NO! I shrieked. No! Not again! NO! Then do something, the voice advised. What? Anything! Like what? I said letting my gaze wander.

The answer came in the ringing of my phone. I considered ignoring it but took it out from my bag anyway. It was my mom. Letting out a breath of relief with a silent prayer of thanks, I picked up.

"Mom, what do you do first to a gunshot victim?" I said as soon as it connected. She was a doctor after all and a person's life was at stake. I was desperate.

"GUNSHOT?" She shrieked, "Why, what's wrong? Are you alright? Where are you?" Questions tumbling out of her mouth

"I need your help ma, real quick!'' I screamed in the phone. ''He has already lost consciousness and I fear he might not even be breathing." I pleaded.

"Are you alright?," she repeated, screaming across the phone,"-and who is He? How come you are with a gunshot victim, Reima? Where in God's name are you?" She was losing focus and was beginning to panic; I could feel it. She does that whenever she feels I'm in a life and death situation, a side-effect from my near death experience. She fears she might lose me.

"Ma, please-," I let the words hang encompassing all my fears and desperation in that one word.

"Where was he shot?" She deadpanned after a few seconds of hesitation.

I kneeled close to the lifeless body covered in his blood sprawled in front of me checking for where he was hit. I couldn't help but wonder how a few minute could mean life and death, for who would have imagined that the amber-eyed stranger she'd met an hour ago would lie in his pool of blood and rely on her to save him.

"I think it's the center of the arm, the side of his arm and another on his abdomen."

"Did you really check whether he is breathing or not?"

"No-," realising that I had missed something important,"-he collapsed in my arms, so I just assumed..."

"Okay, he is probably losing alot of blood. First you'll have to stop the bleeding. Turn him onto his injured side to prevent blood draining internally to the uninjured parts due to gravity and then you'll have to apply direct pressure to the wound using a clean, absorbent material like a cloth or anything that could retain blood. You'll then raise the wound above the level of the heart and begin CPR,"

"CPR?" It was more of shock than question-I couldn't believe months of training as a first aider was about to pay-off.

"Cardiopulmonary resuscitation, the one you were taught. C-A-B - compressions, airway, breathing, remember?"

"Yes, yes, yes, I do. 30 chest compressions, open the person's airway using the head-tilt, chin-lift maneuver, pinch the nostrils shut for mouth-to-mouth breathing and cover the person's mouth with yours, and provide two rescue breath; be careful not to provide too many breaths or to breathe with too much force." I was hyperventilating.

"Yes, baby, that's it. Now take a deep breath and relax. You can do it."

Following her instruction, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and let it go easily. I don't know if I can do it, but having a person's life rest on your doing it wasn't really a situation one would want to be in. It was downright scary!

I had then placed the heel of my hands-one on top of the other. Over the center of his chest, between the nipples. But I felt the struck of something hard, like a necklace or something and so I unbuckled the necklace and pulled it out, shoving it into my trousers pocket as I began compression.

'1, 2, 3...25, 26, 27-," I pant until I got to thirty. I had then place my palm on his forehead and gently tilt the head back, and then with the other hand, gently lift the chin forward to open his airway as I prepared for the kiss of life and without thinking, my mouth merged with his as I gave him the first breath. Not minding the fact that this was my first human-to-human breath of life, not minding that it was with a man, not minding the fact that I had freaked out months ago during a similar situation; it just didn't matter. I paused to see if his chest rises, and seeing that it hadn't, I repeated the head-tilt, chin-lift maneuver again and then give the second breath with all the prayers, faith and hope I could muster. I was beginning to fear the worst might happen AGAIN.

It was faint at first, but I felt his lips move and before I realised what was going on, my breath of life had turned into a deep kiss. I pulled away, letting go of a breath I didn't even realize I was holding.

Pervert!

He was alive that much of I was certain of.

"Hello, hello, REIMA? Where are you?"

It was my mom, I had briefly forgotten I had her on hold.

I picked up the phone, wiping clear the tear streaming down my eyes. "I did it! He's alive!" And then I burst out crying.

"Focus, Reima." She cautioned softly, "-he is still in danger."

Forcing back the tears, I stared at the man lying on his pool of blood. He was in pain, yes, but his eyes also harbored a strange glint as they laid unflinchingly at me, "What do I have to do next?" I asked evading his gaze, I don't think I like being hawked upon in as much as I liked being kiss-tricked.

"You'll have to treat the wound," she had then walked me through the treatment as per the immediate environment and thankfully, I had find a fully kitted first aid box with medical gloves, gauze, bandages-basically everything I need to pull the bullet out, with his help of course.

* * *

After the passsing moments of fear and doubts, I was able to remove the bullets, courtesy of my mom's encouragements; just hearing her voice through the phone calmed my nerves.

"I think I have all the bullets out," I told her my voice shaking.

"That's good, hun." She applauded, "Now, you need to keep him warm and observe him closely. Where are you? I'll call the hospital to come pick you up,"

Hospital?

"No, mom, no hospitals." I freaked out, at the same time I covering him with my blazer to keep him warm.

"What are you saying? He still needs medical care," She said, shocked.

"I know, ma. But please no hospitals," I pleaded. It was at this moment he however chose to want to stand.

"Mum, I'll call you back, I think he just opened his eyes," I cut her off.

"Where do you think you're going to?"

"Somewhere other than here-." He winced as his ordeal to stand was proving more difficult than he'd anticipated clenching his teeth in pain, "We have to leave here immediately,"

"Why? You are shot!" I said, bewildered.Didn't he hear me or doesn't he feel the pain in his body? How is he even able to move his bullet-pierced body, I wondered.

"Now, Reima." He clenched his teeth. "Help me up."

"No, you need to lie down,"

"Please-

I saw the fear swimming in his eyes and felt the desperation behind that word, whatever was happening, I think it was far from over.

He winced in pain as I helped him up and then we had walked slowly to the elevator. He was a bit heavy but he helped by lessening his weight on my body. I could feel the warmth of his blood on my body as he rested against me; the walk had busted open a blood vessel. He was losing blood and had lost a fair amount before we got to his car. I feared he might die if I didn't get him help on time as he was drifting in and out of consciousness. At a loss on what to do, or where to go with him, I called my mom and took him home. Hospital or not, he needed treatment or he will die.

* * *

"He is lucky. The round entered his body, deflected off of a right rib, resulting in the bullet exiting next to his right clavicle. He would survive," Mom said after struggling in the last hour to save him. I thought I had removed all the bullets, but I had missed one just below his rib and he had almost lost his life for it. But thankfully, the gun didn't hit any major organ, blood vessels, or bones, atleast not the life-threatening ones. But it was life-threatening nevertheless.

"So, will you tell me who is he and what happened?" Mom asked staring me right in the face.

I was expecting it-she had just treated a gunshot patient without any police authorization, without even knowing who he was or where he came from, but I couldn't help but feel my heart skip in beat nevertheless. I guess I was overwhelmed.

"He had offered me a ride to my interview earlier this morning." I began, "He had just dropped me off and I had walked into the building when I had gunshots. I had ran back to help. That is all I know." I said solemnly looking as sorry as I could possibly be. Thankfully, this was the truth, well, part of it, but the truth nevertheless. I feared if I lied completely, she would find out immediately, she always did have that uncanny ability.

"Does he have a name?"

I shook my head, "None that I know of,"

She stared at me for a few more minutes more before she'd walked away, heading towards her room. "Call me when he regains consciousness,"

"Okay, Ma." I nodded.

I am waiting for him to regain consciousness too. I needed answers and I have questions, but mostly, I wanted him to be alive.

* * *

Aman slept all day and that night, I kept on tossing and turning restlessly. Truthfully, I was anxious and curious. I had earlier on tried doing research on him online, but nothing had come on. Not even a single photo. Not even those newspaper clippings. The guy was obviously very private which made the gunshot-man-lying-on-my-bed seem all the more unreal. He wasn't any kind of regular guy. And yet somehow, I didn't find that scary. I just wanted to know who he was or was he as he claimed? And it seem the more I dug about him, the more curious I get.

Aman Hassan Jibo. I called out his name softly.

I wondered about who he was. I wondered why he asked for those three days and wondered if I wanted to spend those days with him now that I've seen there was more to him than meet the eyes. I wondered about the scars lining his body that I had glimpsed when mom had ripped off his shirt. I wondered about his nightmares that had him rambling with a sudden onset of a very high fever. I wondered about the kiss-

My thought train kept on brimming with endless wondering and yet no solution was proffered. The thoughts however persisted until exhaustion took over and I slept beside him on the chair overlooking the bed.

It was an unexpected day afterall.

* * *

I awoke to my alarm blaring and the fluttering sound of the curtains. It was 4am. I always woke up by this time, but for some reason today, I was reluctant-I wanted to sleep more.

However, the fluttering persisted and was trailed with the screams of an arresting thunder-it was about to rain. I opened my eyes reluctantly and stared at the window, it was slightly ajar. Groggily, I stood and walked to it and closed it. But not before taking a peek outside. My room has a floor-to-ceiling window facing the woods. I drew my jacket closer, the room felt a bit chilly.

Cold?

Something singed in my head, as I looked fearfully around my bedroom. Why was the room cold? I know I had locked up everywhere and had even turned on the heater, who opened the window, Ma?

My desk was as I left it; with the lamp on and John Fowles, The French Lieutanant's wife underneath. My closet door was locked and so was the bathroom, my phone was on the desk. Everything seem to be in place except for-

Aman

My eyes turned to the bed where he laid.

Aman was gone!

A/N

Loving Aman is ranked #11 in the Nigerian stories category (MashaAllah). It is not my might but the grace of God and you my wonderful and amazing readers. So I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for giving Loving Aman a chance♡♡♡

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