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She looked up at me.
Cuts on her face.
Stitches above her left eye.
Her right eye still swollen.
Thicker stitches on her chin.
Crutches next to her bed.
Her right leg had been shattered.
Her right shoulder dislocated.
Cuts and scrapes and bruises everywhere else.
Not to mention whatever she had going through her head.
The crash.
The sounds.
The smell.
Everything.
I remembered hot oil and gasoline.
Then the clean metal smell of the ambulance.
I remembered the sight of Fiona being pulled from the car…
“Riff,” she said.
I swallowed hard. “Fi. I’m so sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No. You didn’t.” Fiona reached with her left hand. “You weren’t drinking. You weren’t on drugs. It was an accident.”
I crouched down and lifted her left hand to my lips.
I kissed the back of her hand.
Then I let her hand go and touched her face.
She shut her eyes and her bottom lip quivered.
I leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
“You still look beautiful,” I whispered.
She smiled. “You’re an idiot.”
“I just…”
