Free Feel by Karen-Anne Stewart Page A

but I cut him off, not able to hear him say that word about Saige.
    “No!” I bark.  “She’s experiencing the same damn emotions from every single person here.  I have to get her away from them.”
    Andy glances over his shoulder and swears under his breath as the depth of the emotional hell ripping through Saige hits him.  The entire campus is swimming with cops and rescue workers, but they’re too preoccupied with the students hanging on to life, and trying to control the chaos, than to pay attention to us right now.  Saige’s soft body is listless in my arms.  I cup the back of her head in my hand, cradling her closer to my chest.  I wish like hell she would open her eyes.  She’s terrifying me right now.  I’ve seen her emotionally withdrawn too many times in the past, but I’ve never seen her physically affected before.  Her strength is astounding.  She has always thought she was weak, but she’s the strongest person I know.  I can’t begin to comprehend the shit she’s dealt with and kept her sanity.  I honestly don’t know if I could have.  I seriously doubt it.
    The crowd thins as we cross the campus parking lot.  “Bring the van,” I call to Andy, failing miserably at keeping the panic from my voice, as I carry Saige into the alley.  “Hang in there, baby,” I whisper, brushing my lips against her forehead.  It has to be in the high seventies but her skin is so cold to the touch.  I hold her closer to me as I kneel, rocking her in my arms as I continue to talk to her.  She doesn’t respond, and I’m about to lose my fucking mind. 
    It seems like forever before Andy pulls into the alley and slides open the door.  Quickly grabbing a towel, I place it on the metal floor before gently laying Saige down.  “C’mon, baby.  Open your eyes,” I plead. 
    “Do I drive to the hospital or the hotel?” Andy asks, driving over a couple of curbs to pull onto a street that isn’t blocked off, and I place my hands against Saige’s head, trying to keep it from rocking too hard. 
    “Hospital,” I manage to push the words through my throat despite it being raw with more unshed tears as Saige continues to lay motionless in front of me.  Gently taking her hair down, I examine her head.  There are no cuts, but I feel a pretty good sized knot.
    I wrap her small hand in my large one, squeezing gently.  A faint squeeze pushes against my fingers, and I roughly swipe my hand across my eyes, praying for her to open hers.  Her thick lashes flutter a few times before I see her caramel gaze trying to focus on me.  Her eyes are weak, disoriented.  “Hey,” I whisper, “there’s my pretty girl.”
    The corner of her lips tilt into a soft smile when I call her that.  I’ve called her that countless times; I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed how the words feel rolling off my tongue.  She blinks a couple of times, glancing around the van, before she’s fully back.  My heart shatters when she presses the heels of her hands tight against her eyes.  I hear her sharp, shallow breaths as she bites her trembling bottom lip, trying like hell not to cry.  I grab her arms, hauling her onto my lap.  Wrapping my arms around her, she sinks against me, feeling so small and fragile in my embrace. 
    “How many?” she asks, her soft voice muffled against my shirt. 
    “I don’t know,” I whisper, knowing she’s referring to how many students were killed.  I don’t know.  It’s a lot, but I can’t tell her that right now. 
    Her eyes are filled with unshed tears when she looks up.  The sadness staring back kills me.  I place my hand against her cheek.  My thumb slides gently against her bottom lip.  “I’m sorry,” I choke.  The words are meaningless.  I told her that I would stop him.  I didn’t.  I have no idea how many of the dead she knew, but I can see how it hurts her, and my gut twists from her pain. 
    “You didn’t do this,” she breathes.  Anger shadows her