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“Cedric? Oh my God. Oh my God,” she seethed as she covered her mouth in shock.
I was mute, completely speechless and breathless. This was not what I wanted. I never ever would have chosen to hurt her like this. I finally found the strength to speak.
Panicked, I said, “Amanda, it’s not what it looks like. We…just kissed. Nothing more would have happened.”
On that note, Sarah jumped off my bed and ran out the door, without saying a word. She knew I had a girlfriend, so was just as guilty as I was and certainly not shocked by this scene.
Amanda stood in the doorway, just staring at me. “I’m gonna be sick. I’m going to throw up,” she said, before suddenly turning around and bolting down the hall.
By the time I tried to reach her, the elevator doors had closed. I pushed the button frantically, hoping to catch her, but it was too late. When I made it to the parking lot, I could see her father’s black Honda Accord speeding off onto the road, before it disappeared.
That was the last time I saw her. Her last words to me that night had been ‘I’m going to throw up.’
I raced back up to my room, dialing her number over and over, maybe a hundred times. Pick up. Pick up. She never picked up. After an hour of calling her repeatedly, I had enough.
Running back downstairs, I got in my Volkswagon Golf and sped down the road and onto the highway to head to her parents house in Naperville. I was going to explain everything to her when I got there…let her know that I still wanted her in my life, but that we should slow down. I didn’t want to lose her. The kiss was a mistake, one big mistake that meant nothing.
On my way to her parent’s house, I passed an accident on the highway with multiple police vehicles responding. I didn’t bother to look too closely to see what had happened because I was driving so fast to get to her. It looked like the accident was just clearing anyway.
I just needed to get to her.
When I got to Amanda’s house, I noticed that her father’s car wasn’t there. Amanda never came home. Her mother’s car was gone too. I knocked on the front door loudly, because I could see from inside Amanda’s room in the converted garage that she definitely wasn’t inside her bedroom because she slept with a night light and it was pitch black in there. As no one answered the front door, I felt nauseous and knew something was wrong.
I decided to wait in front of
the house, hoping that she or someone would come home. With each passing minute, I worried more and more that something bad had happened.
Then, about an hour later, my phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Cedric, it’s Mrs. Thompson. Amanda’s been in an accident. You need to come to the hospital. She’s at Chicago Memorial.”
“Wha…Is she okay?” I asked frantically.
She hung up and the phone went dead.
It wasn’t until I got to the hospital that I realized the accident I passed on the highway was Amanda’s car. I fell to my knees in the waiting room as her mother’s brother Todd told me what he had heard.
She was in a coma and fighting for her life.
She had hit a guardrail.
No one else was hurt.
Crying hysterically, I prayed to God to take me, not her.
Please, God, save her. I’ll do anything.
I would never forgive myself for causing her to storm off, probably driving erratically and crashing her car. She was so upset. I kept hearing her voice.
‘I’m going to throw up.’
The look on her face would be etched in my memory.
Weeping and shaking my head, holding a hand to my trembling mouth in disbelief, I kept replaying the sound of her voice.
‘I’m going to throw up.’
