Oliver.

"No." I whisper, as Sinead is wheeled in and placed in the bay next to mine.

She's an impossible colour. She looks like a swamp creature, purple and blue all over, her hair slick with some kind of wetness. A grim
realisation has me aware the wetness is blood. Her blood. She's soaked in blood.

I take a weak step towards her, "What happened to her?"

A nurse blocks me, "Sorry, I'm going to need you to step back."

I look at her like she's insane. "You don't understand, that's my-" I break off.

My what? Girlfriend? No. Wife? No. Partner? No. I have no defining word for what she is, none that would make the nurse aware of the magnitude of what's unfolding.

She is the centre of the world, and if she burns I'll burn with her. If she dies, I won't survive.

My voice is weak as I watch them strap monitors onto her. "Best friend. She's my best friend. She's everything."

The nurses eyes soften, "Then you shouldn't watch."

"I can't leave her. She can't be alone."

All of a sudden all the machines scream and Sinead's entire body shakes. The team rally around her, calling for medications, some holding her in place.

"We'll have to put her in a coma." The senior doctor says. "Up to ICU. She needs a vent."

They whip her away, sprinting off with her body. I just stand there, staring after them like the moronic little twit I am. This is my fault. She's like that because of me. I just know it.

I was never worthy of Sinead. She's going to die because I dared tried to be.

"Ollie!" Dan screams, sprinting towards me. "Where have you been? What happened to Sinead?"

I go to tell him, but nothing comes out. It's clear she went to find me, sensing something was wrong she came looking, and she's had a car crash in her hunt to save me.

I can't speak. I can't make a sound. Tears fill my eyes and then great, raking sobs escape from my chest. Despair and desperation grips me.

Shes going to die and it's my fault.

"Ollie?" Dan grips my shoulder, worry stretching across his face.

Blood pounds in my ears, my heart thunders in my chest. Hands shaking. Feet tingling. Dan suddenly looks disfigured, as if I'm looking at him with a fish-eye lens on.

I'm too hot, too sweaty. I can't breathe. I can't inhale. My lungs are failing and my heart is going to burst. Am I dying? Do I have injuries they didn't notice?

"Ol's?" Dan's eyes are searching mine. Over his shoulder he shouts, "I think I need help here!"

I try and fill my lungs, but my breaths are sharp and shallow. My vision hallows out, as though I'm looking through a kaleidoscope, stars jump
in front of me, making everything mucky and unclear. I'm dying. This is what death feels like.

Good.

A nurse tries to steer me to the bed but my legs can't move. Dan hoists me into position, I don't even feel him do it but I know he does.

The nurse begins to frantically attach the wires to me, and I sink lower into the gurney. It's too late, she can't save me, I'm having a heart attack or my lungs are giving out.

She works quickly, methodically, jotting down numbers and checking the screens.

"I think he's having a panic attack." She finally says. "His heart rate is raised but everything else is normal."

"Ollie," Dan implores, his face in front of mine. He's as white as a ghost, deathly afraid. "It's okay. You're okay. I need you to breathe."

I shake my head. I can't. My lungs won't let me. I'm not okay.

"Please," Dan begs. "Just breathe."

Can I breathe? Is this a panic attack? They checked me over thoroughly when I arrived. They surely would have caught it if anything was wrong. When they x-rayed me and glued my head back together - took my bloods, checked me repeatedly.

Am I okay? Am I alright? They checked me over thoroughly.

I take a breath.

I'm okay. I'm alright, they checked me over throughly. I'm okay. I'm alright, they checked me over throughly. I'm okay. I'm alright, they checked me over throughly.

My head chants that over and over, until the thundering of my heart stops, and my breathing becomes regular. I have no idea how long it's taken - could be thirty seconds, could be thirty hours. Dan stays by my side the entire time, gripping onto me, telling me it's going to be okay.

I wildly wonder if he knows how grateful I am for our friendship. Probably not, it's not something blokes often talk about.

He waits until I seem more myself before he steps back from me, allowing me space. We sit in silence together, my hands and body still shaky. I'm flooded, floored, my emotions crippling me.

"I'm sorry, Ollie." Dan says after a long while, taking up the chair by my bed. "I know you're probably not ready, but you've got to tell me what happened tonight."

I look at him. I feel so unbelievably drained. Empty. Devoid. I relay everything that happened from the moment I left him in a detached voice. He doesn't speak the entire time. His eyes widen at parts, jaw jumps at others, and fists are balled throughout.

"Molly, where is she now?"

"Last I heard they had to operate on her lung. I haven't asked since."

"It's going to be okay." He tells me again.

He can't know that. He doesn't know that.

"I need to get to Sinead." I say simply.

"We will." He replies, his voice laced with sincerity.

We both turn to look as the curtain to my bay is violently yanked back, Niamh stands there, looking at me. Her beautiful face is smudged with makeup and eyes red rimmed as if she's been crying long and hard.

"We're not allowed to see Sinead." She stomps into the bay and sits next to Dan. "It's bad. It's really, really bad."

Her words have some horrible effect on my chest, like she's reached in, grabbed my heart and squeezed it as hard as she can.

Dan rubs her back, "What did they say?"

"She's broken her right leg and left arm, she's got a third degree burn on her chest. There's an open wound to her head, shoulder and back. They think she was in some kind of explosion, and her car was propelled into the air with her in it."

I suck in a breath.

Niamh's looks at me, her eyes somehow open and accusatory at the same time. "What happened tonight?"

Dan spares me the misery of having to repeat myself for the millionth time, so he tells Niamh for me. She doesn't ask a million questions like she normally would, she listens to him intently, eyes narrowed and ears perked. She barely moves, barely breathes, he has her whole attention.

I don't know if they realise that they move in sync, but they do. When she cries he immediately wipes her eyes, if she cocks her head to the side, he does too. They're two pieces that create a whole.

I realise that they are to each other what Sinead is to me. The missing half. The thing that puts me back together and completes me, and now she is strapped to machines in a cold and sterile room, with god knows how many injuries, just because I married the wrong girl.

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