Adrenaline

Author's Note: This was written as a piece of flashfiction, for the one-word prompt "Adrenaline".

Warnings: Language.

It's not very often that you see a fifteen year old boy lift a refrigerator.

He did, though, fingers scrabbling at the corner as he heaved with all of his might, straining upwards against the heavy, oppressive and ominous force. He pushed, feet slipping against the floor as he scrambled closer, shoving and lifting and praying silently, please, God.

Please, God.

Forever lasted a few short seconds and then the stupid, bulky thing crashed back downwards, but in the other direction, slamming open and spilling out shattered pieces of glass stained with strawberry jam, eggshells cracked and leaking yolk, blue Kool-aid bleeding out onto the ground.

"Oh, please, oh please," he said, hands shaking, his vision blurring with unshed tears. He crouched down, trembling fingers pressing against his friend's neck. The skin there was warm, slightly damp with sweat, and the boy had to take his hand back, wipe it on his jeans, still the movement of his fingers before he could return them to their search. Nothing, nothing, and then when his hands had started their trembling once more, he pressed into the soft flesh and felt a heartbeat, slow rhythmic pulsing that pressed back.

His hands steadied. His breathing slowed. The initial press of terror sharpened into something more acute, something deeper, guilt and shame and horror and fear all mixed with adrenaline and spun seamlessly into one.

"Fuck," he said, out loud and clearly, before he dialed 911.

"You're going to be okay, Charlie," he told his unconscious friend, his hand still pressed against his pulse so that he could feel the steady reassuring beat.

He stayed there, crouched by his friend, ignoring the spread of blue that soaked into his jeans and made his skin itch, praying to a god he had never really believed in, as he tried not to count the seconds until the ambulance arrived.

Fin.