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Clunk, clunk goes the engine.
“Son of a bitch.” I slam my hand on the wheel.
Feels good, the pain radiating up my arm, the heat. So I do it again. And again. I bow my head, panting.
It’s not enough. I need something… someone. I think of Kayla’s hand on my chest, resting there, as if counting my heartbeats, and it feels as if I’m gonna fall to pieces.
I can’t let it happen. I need to be strong. Hard. Impenetrable. Unbreakable. Can’t let this news of my mom’s sickness, or the possibility of back-breaking expenses destroy me. Not when I’m responsible for Mom. There might be a way to fix this. Cure her. Get financial aid.
Get Raine to see me, see her.
Break this vicious circle of guilt and anger. Be free to be who I want, be with whom I want, be happy. Real fucking happy, not the kind with the skin-deep smiles and forced laughter.
Thunder crashes in the distance. The rain is pouring in sheets on the highway, on my Chevy. I squint at the road ahead, racing toward Madison.
Toward Kayla. I wanna talk to her. Tell her about what happened, about what might happen. Need to touch her, kiss her.
Even if it’s dangerous. Even if it means I have to tell her more, and in so doing lose her. But I haven’t had her anyway, so what’s there to lose, right?
Fuck, the rain is a waterfall now, washing over the car, and I can’t see shit. I brake and try to downshift, but the stick won’t move. It’s locked. I’m a racer, but racing blindly in the dark and rain isn’t my specialty.
Cursing, I shove at the shift with all I have, but it won’t budge. What the fuck? The shadow of a much slower car looms up ahead, and I swerve to avoid it, slam on the brakes—
— and lose control of the Chevy. The tires skid, the world spins, and next thing I know there’s an impact and then another, throwing me against the seatbelt so hard I see stars and blackness.
Silence.
Darkness.
Then a ringing in my ears and a pressure on my chest.
Oh fuck.
It takes a moment for my eyes to clear and my lungs to start working again. Breathing fucking hurts, and I hiss as I try to make sense of what I see.
Murky water around me. Sediment billowing like clouds outside the windows of the Chevy.
I’m underwater.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! What the hell happened?
Memory hits me, the memory of losing control of my car. Sliding. Hitting something. Smashing into the metal fence by the side of the road.
Plunging into water.
Holy shit.
My right wrist hurts like a bitch, but I can move my hand. Okay. I’m okay. Need to get out of here.
I try the door.
It won’t budge. I rattle it. Nothing. Then I jab at the button to open the window and I have a moment of pure, cold panic when nothing happens.
Just my luck, to drown in a puddle by the side of the highway.
But then the window slides down, and I suck in a breath right before the water pours in, kicking me in the face.
Forcing my shoulders through the narrow opening, I propel myself out of the Chevy and up. Kicking my feet, I swim upward. It feels like forever, but it can’t be more than six or seven feet before I break the surface and float in the darkness, gasping for air. Every breath sends fire through my ribs.
