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Fuck!
Henderson brings the car to an abrupt halt right across from Ava’s, and I fling the door open before it properly stops and jog to the vehicle.
She went completely silent on the phone after I told her to pull over, so I had Henderson follow her phone’s GPS and bring us here at the speed of light.
The last thing my wife should do is drive. She’s not fit to do so by any stretch of the imagination. Worse, it’s a triggering factor.
Mum and Dad should’ve made sure she got into the car with a fucking driver, not on her own. If Landon hadn’t told me, I would’ve probably found her in a ditch by now.
The tightness in my steps matches that of my chest the closer I approach the car. I pause by the door and inhale a large gulp of air, readying myself for the disaster Sam, Henderson, Ariella, Cecily, and even Dad told me was coming.
The disaster of my own making.
Cold air bites into my skin as the residential area’s faint lighting casts an ominous halo on the black car.
I dip my head and pause when I find Ava slumped on the steering wheel, turned away from me, her blonde hair spilling in silky waves that mimic a fallen angel’s.
The faint sound of a cello filters through the closed window with the smoothness of a haunting lullaby.
I pull on the handle. Locked.
Fuck.
This is the worst case of déjà vu.
The last time she was slumped and unresponsive by a car was when I tethered her to me and bound her to my side forever.
I told her she had no choice, but that was far from the truth.
She’s slipping between my fingers with the persistence of sand despite my attempts to trap her sickness. Asphyxiate it.
Fucking dismantle it.
I built an hourglass, but it’s been cracking for months and I refused to see the damage. Not in the late-night walks or the mindless existence of her ghostly version.
However, this incident is prone to shove her to the point of no return and decimate any hourglass remnants.
I couldn’t care less.
If everything spills over, I’ll find a way to trap her in again. Even if I have to buy every fucking desert and shove the sand back inside.
My jaw clenches as I tap on the window gently to avoid startling her, even if part of me feels she’s too far gone to hear anything.
I do it again, injecting more strength behind the knock.
My wife stirs and I pause, my hand suspended in midair.
Slowly, she lifts herself and turns in my direction, her stiff movement no different than a robot’s.
Fuck.
Her eyes are clouded, not empty, but also not present either. It’s a mysterious mix of lethargy and alertness.
She clicks a button on the dashboard without my having to say anything.
I carefully pry the door open and lower myself so my face is level with hers in an attempt to reduce the threatening factor.
The smell of seafood fills my nostrils, but a hint of sweet flowers continues to emanate from her.
