Page 4 of Not Another Dark Romance

Maybe I just approach him, ask him on a date. That’s a normal thing to do. If he’s straight, whatever. I’ll move on, but I don’t have time to go through all the what-ifs.

I start moving toward him as his reverse lights turn on, and panic claws up my throat. No. No, this can’t be how it ends. Not with him driving away. I pick up my pace, starting a slow jog to try to beat the reversing truck. Except my fucking shoelace must be untied because before I know it, I’m falling forward, my body lurching toward the truck’s tailgate.

My head connects with it. Hard.

2

“What the fuck was that?” I shout.

Shit!

I definitely just hit something. The loud thud was almost the exact same as when I backed into my mom’s mailbox last summer. Except my truck didn’t jerk like it just did when I hit the mailbox… Plus there are no mailboxes in this parking lot between a bunch of old warehouses. So what the hell did I hit? Please tell me it wasn’t another car. I do not want to file a claim.

I shift back into park and jump out, rounding the truck bed, and I don’t immediately see anything. I swear to God, if I just hit one of those stray cats that are always running around, I’ll never forgive myself. Please be okay. Now I’d be happy if it was another car or a random trash can or…

Oh fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This cannot possibly be happening.

My heart stops beating, and I forget how to breathe. Or maybe I’m breathing too quickly? I’m definitely dizzy. My gut drops, my adrenaline spikes, and my whole body feels like it’s vibrating in horror. I have no idea what the fuck to do. I feel like I’m going to pass out, but I can’t afford to pass out right now.

My legs must give out instead because without consciously deciding to, I sink to the ground as my vision blurs, and I blink back automatic tears, trying to choke down the sob that threatens to escape my throat.

What did I do? How could this have happened?

I hit a fucking person.

Shit, is he dead?

I’m going to jail. My life is over.

Fuck! I slam my fist into my stupid truck. It doesn’t help me feel any better, and now my knuckles are throbbing, but I have way too many emotions coursing through me right now to control my temper.

At least I didn’t hit a cat?

But holy fucking shit, I can’t believe this is really happening to me. This has to be a bad dream, right? A nightmare that I’ll wake up from and be able to shake off after a few hours of consciousness. Maybe I’m not even in Kansas City yet. Maybe I’m still in Arizona, and this is a sign I should turn down Grant and Eric’s offer to work with them. I’ve never wanted to be a business owner anyway.

Sure, being part-owner of a brewery with my best friend and his older brother sounds cool, but if I can wake up from this moment, if it really is a bad dream, I’ll happily walk away from that plan.

But if this is real… none of that matters anyway.

Because I hit a person. A man!

I’m panicking, gasping for air. I can’t remember how to get my limbs to work to even crawl toward him, but I don’t need to close the distance between us to know what’s happening. He’s lying on the asphalt, isn’t moving, isn’t breathing, and I don’t need to get any closer to confirm what that means. The gravity of this situation is already weighing heavily on my chest.

Fuck. I know I need to get it together. Check his pulse or something. Maybe I just knocked him out. This might not be so bad. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I somehow force myself to reach my shaking hand toward his wrist to put two fingers on it like they do on TV, but I don’t feel a goddamn thing.

This is as bad as I suspected.

I killed him.

I’m a murderer.

I just fucking killed someone. Oh my god. What the fuck?

I’m going to go to jail for the rest of my life because I’m an idiot and didn’t see this guy behind my car in this dark parking lot. It was an accident, sure, but I don’t think intent matters when someone fucking dies. I’ve watched enough true crime documentaries to know that’s still reckless homicide or something. It’s still murder.

I can’t breathe. Oh fuck, I’m totally having a panic attack. My breath is coming in short gasps, and I can’t stop the tears that are soaking my cheeks.