He couldn't get enough air. He didn't know how long he would be able to even stay in the half-consious state before drifting off into that void that wanted to swallow him whole.

And he was so cold.

Bridget was only partially aware of what was going on at this point. The bandages on his arm had started to soak through, seeping past the sutures faster once the cloth was removed. His face, pale naturally, had gone ashen. He wondered in a distant way what would happen to him if he died here. Would he wake up at home? Wake up in the hospital again? Or would he die for real?