Rafael sees easily a dozen different kinds of injuries a day. Contusions, hemorrhages, fractures, poisonings, overdoses, concussions…
But today, the one on his mind is ballistics trauma. Mainly because that’s what’s happening to him right now.
He doesn’t feel cold. That’s good, right? He isn’t in pain either. He’s still bleeding, which means his heart is still pumping. Pounding, in fact, a frantic tempo.
He realizes then that that sinking feeling in his gut is fear, not the wound.
But he’s panicking, wide awake, so that has to be a good sign. He hopes. God he hopes so. He isn’t ready to die yet. He won’t be ready any day, but he definitely isn’t ready this one. Olivia’s still mad at him. He hasn’t called Mami yet today. He hasn’t gotten to…show more content… Not a big mean psychopath like Johnny D. or William Lewis. Just a kid with no understanding of gun safety. A kid who’d waved the gun around and hit Rafael’s torso entirely by accident.
What a stupid way to die.
“Why doesn’t it hurt?” he mumbles to himself, looking down. He doesn’t feel like he’s been shot. The blood confirms that he has, but there’s no pain. The only thing he’s felt at all was a sensation like being punched, when the bullet first went in. And his legs are falling asleep from the strange position he has them in. That’s all.
Should he be grateful for the lack of pain? Scared? Well, scared is a given. It’s like his shadow, a companion he isn’t even consciously aware of. It just lies in the background, taunting him, there enough to make dread pool in his belly alongside the blood, but just deep enough beneath the surface that he can’t fight it off.
“Guess I don’t need to watch Hamilton now, I’m living it,” he thinks, and an almost hysterical laugh breaks through. Unnerving the kid, who is still frozen in place, but screw that kid anyway. Rafael couldn’t care less that the kid’s face is gradually paling- about the same rate as Rafael’s own skin, funnily enough- as comprehension dawns on