“I’m going to pick you up now. It’s going to hurt and I am really sorry. But I have to.” He said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You need to go to the hospital.” He said.
“No. I can’t go to the hospital. I can’t let anyone know about this.” I said.
“Trinity. You’re going to the hospital. You can’t just hope that you’re going to heal on your own. You have at least four broken ribs and a punctured lung. You could die. And I’ll be damned if I am going to let those bastards do this to you.” He said with such conviction that I knew there was no point in arguing with him.
He picked me up, his arm under my shoulders and his other arm under my knees.
He carried me out of my bedroom, where I didn’t hear any of my family anywhere.
Gage carried me downstairs and out the front door. I fel
