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The car in front of me stops short. In my drowsy, distracted state I do not see it coming in time. Could I have reacted faster in different circumstances? I’ll never know.
I hit the brakes as fast as I can, but it is no use. It takes some of the speed out of the car, but not enough. Then I hear a loud slam coming from the front of my car.
The impact comes next, right after the hideous thud. I am startled as my head bounces forward toward the steering wheel, then jerks back to hit the headrest. Thankfully, with my arms braced in position on the steering wheel, it absorbs some of the impact. My head only taps the wheel lightly, but I still feel like a rag doll in one of those car accident ads for air bags.
I freeze in fear, waiting for more but nothing else comes. My heart gallops like a racehorse in my chest. I am unable to feel anything, anything at all, not even pain or discomfort.
My mind begins to race along with my heart. I look around in confusion, trying to piece together what just happened. A metal trash can rolls slowly across the road, and I slowly realize that must have been the reason for the abrupt stop by the car ahead of me.
My thoughts are labored and slow. I let my hands fall from the wheel and smack into my thighs. That is when the pain comes roaring, running up my right arm like an electric shock.
“Damn it,” I seethe.
I start to think of my mother, my father, to calm myself down. I wait for more sources of pain to arrive, but they don’t. Then I start to hear a voice outside of my car, muffled but loud and concerned.
I still can’t move. This is what it must be like to be in shock. My head throbs, my brain rattling against the inside of my skull.
“Are you alright?”
The voice is yelling and trying to open my door. I can’t turn my head. I want to, but I can’t.
8
AIDEN
Ican’t believe my father thinks that I am just going to lie down and take his bullshit. I am not just some carnival pony that he can sell off to benefit himself. I may be his son, but I will not act like a soldier and do whatever he instructs.
I ruminate as I drive to the office, unable to focus on anything else but this real life nightmare. Aleighia has grown up with the same parents, and despite her constant support of me, she understands that not giving into our dad is much more painful than just giving him what he wants.
I know that she means well when she suggests I consider it. She knows how difficult he can be, how painful it will be to stand up for myself. But I refuse to go down that path. I refuse to give into his manipulation and tricks.
I get to work and do my best to focus. It is pointless, though, as our engagement photos are set to happen only in a few hours. It weighs on me, like an elephant sitting on your chest when you’re trying to stand up.
The hours move as slow as molasses, and I realize I am watching the seconds tick by. It is only half an hour until I am set to show up. I have to decide what I will do, and I have to decide now.
I already told my father once I would not marry Ada. Still, he did not listen. He’s so used to getting his way that he just carried on like business as usual, even arranging this photo shoot for us. If I give in now, it’s only reinforcing his ability to steamroll over top of me,
I tap my pen, thinking about my sister’s advice. It would be easier to tap out and just get engaged. It would even be better if I just got married. I could always get a divorce in the long run.
“Screw that.”
I stand up from my desk, flinging the pen across the room to rest on a couch. I grab my coat and fly out to my car. I am not going to attend the photo shoot. They are going to have to send out the Navy SEALs to find me.
My decision is a decision, but also not one, really. I don’t know what alternative I’ve landed on or where, exactly, I plan to go next. In my fevered brain, none of that seems as important right now as justleaving.
I put the pedal to the metal and whip out of the parking lot, raging out into the street, going God knows where. I keep my eye on the speed, tamping back when I realize I’ve exceeded any reasonable limit. Despite that, I feel the urge to blast off so hard, I just may begin to fly.
I keep the speed at a normal pace, my better judgment winning out. I cannot let my anger get away from me. That would be irresponsible.
I also wouldn’t want my father to know that he affected me so deeply. I head onward on the road with no clue where I am going. All I know is that I just want to be alone.
I squeeze the steering wheel while my mind drifts. Slowing down to make a left hand turn, I begin to wonder what my sister is going to think of my actions. A flash of metal catches my eye, and I stop short, pushing abruptly down on the brake to narrowly avoid hitting a trash can in the road in front of me.
All of sudden, I feel my head slam back against the headrest, then lurch forward into the steering wheel. Somewhere, the noise of a loud, metallic crunching penetrates my dazed senses.
I rub my sore head, already instinctively knowing that the back of my favorite ride has been damaged. My ears are ringing.
I groan in frustration, aggravated by yet another problem I don’t need added to my plate. My head pulses, but I have enough awareness to open up the car door and see what just happened.
