Note: I am by no means a medical professional or have any extensive medical knowledge. This is fiction and is not accurate in the least.
Nothing I could say can describe the amount of pain I am feeling. Clutching onto my stomach with both my hands, I can barely move. Breathing burns and feels like my lungs are being torn out with each breath I take in, crushing my chest with every exhale.
I feel my stomach contracting again and I throw up on the floor of the truck. I can feel the blood sliding from my lips to my chin. I don’t even have the strength to lift my hand up and wipe it.
“Come on, come on, move you, idiot.” I hear Mathieu say through gritted teeth.
He keeps mumbling incoherent words to me and honking the horn, swerving from left to right, speeding, trying to get to the hospit
