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“Don’t move.” I hear as I try to reach my hand to take my seat belt off, but that’s when I feel it. Excruciating pain.
It feels like a knife is stabbing me.
I listen to the voice and stop trying to free myself.
Sirens blare in the distance, but I worry they won’t make it in time.
My vision goes blurry.
The sirens become muffled.
And then nothing.
65
Drew
Where did she go? I need to talk to her. I need to explain. I run out of the building and down the street.
A few feet away, Reese’s car peels out of the spot, and I take off after them. “Stop!” I yell at the top of my lungs, but it’s no use.
“Throw me a set of keys,” I scream at the valet.
“Which ones?”
“Just give me a set of goddamn keys,” I bellow, and the poor kid jumps into gear. He hurls a set of keys into the air.
“The white car,” he says, pointing at a beat-up Honda that must be his. I don’t have time to think. My feet stomp the pavement in the direction of the Honda. In the distance, I can see Reese’s car. The stoplight up ahead is red.
I feel crazed.
Out of control, I dash into the compact car. I start the engine and hit the gas, leaving the parking space on what feels like two wheels. I don’t give a shit about anything other than getting to Bailey.
The light turns green before I make it to them, and the car swerves. “Fuck,” I yell, wanting to bash Reese’s face in for driving so out of control. Bailey’s in that fucking car. Because of your actions.
I have the pedal to the floor, but Reese’s car is too fast. A car pulls out in front of me, and I slam down on the horn, swerving to miss it. When I get around the red Ford, I see Reese up ahead and what occurs next plays out like a slow-motion picture in front of me. As he’s pulling up to the next intersection, the light turns yellow, and he must think he can make it because he drives right through it, crossing into the intersection, and then my heart stops.
The tires screech.
The bone-shattering sound of crashing metal beats against my temples.
The two cars collide.
I stop the car and jump out, running as fast as I can to get to her.
“Bailey.” The word blasts from my chest through my lungs, leaving my eardrums vibrating and my throat raw. I drop to my knees, my body physically unable to move as I take in the wreckage.
Bailey’s inside what used to be Reese’s car. Now it looks like meat after it’s been through a grinder. Mangled and unrecognizable.
My heart pounds in my chest as I try to stand. I need to get to her. I’ll crawl if I have to. A sturdy pair of hands come under my arms, helping me to stand. I look to the side to see a burly-looking man saying something that I can’t hear. He points at a truck beside us, but I couldn’t care less what he’s saying until I hear his next words. “Go!”
Somehow, I manage to get my feet to work. When I make it to the car, I frantically try to open the door, but it’s impossible. Through the broken glass, I see her damaged body. I know I can’t touch or move her, but I need her to know I’m here.
Before I can think about anything other than her, I’m pulling the metal.
It doesn’t move at first. The burly man from earlier runs up with a crowbar, and I step out of the way, allowing him to try. It gives a little, but not enough to open, not enough to even touch her.
“Bailey!” I shout through the crack. “Open your eyes,” I plead. She doesn’t, though. She doesn’t move at all. My heart pounds in my chest as I yell at bystanders to call the paramedics.
The girl I love is in there, and it’s my fault. I let this happen.
Things happen fast from that point on.
It’s all a blurry haze.
I vaguely recall being pushed out of the way and Bailey being taken from the car. The paramedics whisk her away, and I just sit there on the pavement, paralyzed to the spot. This can’t be happening. I promised I’d take care of her, and I let her down. I failed her. I killed her.
A sob breaks from my chest. I sit on the cold, hard ground with my head in my hands and bawl like a child. I feel someone place their hand on my shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze.
“You’ve got to go to her, Drew. She needs you at the hospital.” I look up into my mother’s sympathetic gaze. I don’t deserve her pity. It’s all my fault. I’ve failed her. Again.
