Snippet #2205234

Layla held her head in her hands as she sat up in her bed. Sleeping was of no use now. But staying awake did no good either. Screaming reverberated through her ears as the memory of the same nightmare came to mind, holding a pillow to her face to stifle the small, pained whimper. Her eyes fluttered open as the noise finally died away, leaving a horrible ringing in her head. Maybe some cold water would ease her, she thought as she moved out of bed and headed to the kitchen. As she was downing the last gulp of water, there was a sound that pierced through the silence. Immediately setting down the empty glass, she quickly went to open the door.

Any thoughts of her own emotional turmoil were forgotten as soon as she caught sight of the blood. Layla didn't linger a moment longer standing in her door. Rushing on to the street, she lifted the injured man's arm carefully, settled herself in the space underneath it, and using her free arm and what little strength she had, she began to lead him into her home. "Hang in there," she grunted out, as they finally made it to the living room couch. Gently, she situated his head to stay on level with the rest of his body. Spotting the wound, she grabbed a pillow and elevated the arm above his chest. Leaning above him, she checked to see if he was still breathing, nodding to herself when she confirmed that he was. Ducking into the bathroom, she grabbed all the necessary supplies. When she returned to the living room, she added pressure to the wounded area, trying to stop the bleeding, or slow it if anything. She needed to keep applying pressure for about ten minutes to allow the blood clots to form. "If you're conscious, blink a few times," Layla commanded, still managing a soft, patient tone despite the urgency she was feeling.