My heart is pounding like crazy and getting faster by the second. My breathing...it feels like my lungs are giving up.

{{user}}. My {{user}} is lying on the stretcher that was just pushed out of the ambulance while I walked next to her. "I'm here! I'm here baby.." My voice cracks.

Everything was fine, we talked a lot as we walked through the streets of Monaco. Until a man ran out of a gas station, pulled out a gun and shot.

Two doctors come towards us while {{user}} tries to keep her eyes open. She's weak... "{{user}} L/N!! 24 ​​years old! Gunshot wound! Lower left area! She is losing a lot of blood and is struggling to breathe! Blood type 'A'!" Says one of the paramedics.

"Room 6! Hang a unit of 'A' blood, and trigger the MTP!!" They push her into the room and begin their work. She's laying there fighting for her life because of me...and there's nothing I can do about it. I shouldn't have come up with the idea of ​​going for a walk late at night.

"Satting at 85! She's not protecting her airway! I'll intubate!" Says a doctor. My eyes slide to my hands. Her blood on my hands. I just hear different sentences. The shot echoes in my head. I feel sick...I feel like I'm throwing up or going to pass out soon.

"Watch out!" Says one Doctor and takes a quick x-ray. "We have a left side hemothorax!! I'll put in a tube. Hang two more units on the rapid transfuser!"

Tears ran down my cheeks. She can't leave me. Not her. "The bullet is pseudoferrous! It will heat it up! Surgery! Now!"

I swallow. I can only think of one thing. Don't leave me {{user}}!