K. Bromberg - Driven

He stares at me, his eyes piercing into mine with such intensity that I avert my mine momentarily. “You’re right, this isn’t you,” he grates out, his countenance guarded, as I flick my eyes back to his. He lifts his glass and empties the rest of the glass’s contents, pools of emerald continuing to watch my eyes from over the rim of the glass. When he finishes, he runs his tongue over his lips, angling his head as he thinks something through in his head. “Let me get my keys and drive you home.”

“Don’t bother,” I shake my head, shifting my weight as I figure out how to save face as humiliation seeps through me. “I’ll take a cab—it’ll make this mistake easier on both of us.” It takes everything I have to lean up on my toes and brush a casual, chaste kiss on his cheek. I meet his eyes again and try to feign indifference. “Don’t worry, Colton, you crossed the finish line and took the checkered flag.” I throw over my shoulder as I start to walk toward the door, chin still held high despite the trembling of my bottom lip. “I’m just throwing the caution out there before I can be black flagged.”

I step through the door and into the elevator. When I turn to push the first floor, I notice Colton standing in the doorway of the penthouse. His mouth twists as he watches me with aloof eyes and a hardened expression.

I continue to stare at him as the doors start to close, a single tear falling down my cheek—the only betrayal my body displays of my sadness and humiliation. I am finally alone. I sag against the wall, allowing the emotions to overcome me yet still fighting the tears swimming in my eyes for I still have to find a way home.

***

The cab ride is quick but painful. My quiet sobs in the backseat do nothing to alleviate the brutal reality of what just happened. When we pull up to the house a little after three in the morning, I’m glad to see that Haddie is home but asleep, for I can’t handle her questions right now.

I slip into my room and flip on my IPOD speakers to a barely audible volume, scroll for “Unwell” and push repeat. As Rob Thomas’ voice melts the familiar words into me, I shed my clothes and step into my shower. I smell of Colton and of sex, and I scrub obsessively to try and get his scent off of me. It doesn’t matter though, no matter what I do, I can still smell him. I can still taste him. I can still feel him. I allow the water to wash away my torrent of tears, hiding my hiccupping sobs in its rushing sound.

When I’m waterlogged and the tears have subsided, I pick myself up off the shower floor that I’d slid down onto, and make my way into my bedroom. I throw on a camisole and a pair of panties before collapsing into the comforting warmth of my bed and succumb to sleep.

CHAPTER 13

I can smell fuel and dirt and something pungently metallic. It fills my nostrils, seeping into my head before I feel the pain. In that quiet moment before my other senses are assaulted with the destruction around me, I feel at peace. I feel still and whole. For some reason my consciousness knows I’ll look back on this and wish I had this moment back. Wish I could remember what it was like before .

The pain comes first. Even before my head can clear the fog away enough so that I can open my eyes, the pain comes. There are no words to describe the agony of feeling like you have a million knives entering you and ripping you apart, just to withdraw and start all over again. And again. Endlessly.

In that second between unconscious and consciousness, I feel this jagged pain. My eyes fly open, frantic breaths gulp for air. Each breath hurting, burning, laboring. My eyes see the devastation around me, but my brain doesn’t register the shattered glass, smoking engine, and crushed metal. My mind doesn’t understand why my arm, bent at so many odd angles, won’t move to undo my seatbelt. Why it can’t release me.

I feel as if everything is in slow motion. I can see dust particles drift silently through the air. I can feel the trickle of blood run ever so slowly down my neck. I can feel the incremental inching of numbness taking over my legs. I can feel the hopelessness seep into my psyche, take hold of my soul, and dig its malicious fingers into my every fiber.

I can hear him. Can hear Max’s gurgled breathing, and even in my shock-induced haze I’m mad at myself for not looking for him more quickly. I turn my head to my left and there he sits. His beautiful wavy blonde hair is tinged red, the gaping gash in his head looks odd to me. I want to ask him what happened to him but my mouth isn’t working. It can’t form the words. Panic and fear fills his eyes, and pain creases his tanned, flawless face. A small trickle of blood is coming from his ear and I think this is a bad thing but I’m not sure why. He coughs. It sounds funny, and little specks of red appear on the shattered window in front of us. I see his hand travel across the car, fumbling over every item between him and me as if he needs touch to guide him. He fumbles aimlessly until he finds my hand. I can’t feel his fingers grip mine, but my eyes see the connection.

“Ry,” he gasps. “Ry, look at me.” I have to concentrate really hard to raise my head and eyes to meet Max’s. I feel the warmth of a tear fall on my cheek, the salt of it on my lips, but I don’t remember crying. “Ry, I’m not doing too good here.” I watch as he unsuccessfully attempts to take a deep breath but my attention is drawn elsewhere when I think I hear a baby crying. I swivel my head to look, but there is nothing but pine trees and the sudden movement makes me dizzy.

“Rylee! I need you to concentrate. To look at me,” he pants in short bursts of breaths. I swing my head back at him. It’s Colton. What’s he doing here? Why is he covered in blood? Why is he in Max’s seat? In Max’s clothes? In Max’s place?

“Rylee,” he begs, “Please help me. Please save me.” He sucks in a labored, ragged breath, his fingers relaxing in mine. His voice is barely a whisper. “Rylee, only you can save me. I’m dying. I need you to save me.” His head lolls to the side slowly, his mouth parting as the blood at the corner of it thickens, his beautiful emerald eyes expressionless.

I can hear the screaming. It is loud and piercing and heart wrenching. It continues over and over.

“Rylee! Rylee!” I fight off the hands grabbing me. Shaking me. Pulling me away from Colton when he needs me so desperately. “Damn it, Rylee, wake up!”

I hear Haddie’s voice. How did she get down this ravine? Has she come to save us?

“Rylee!” I’m jolted back and forth again violently. “Rylee, wake up!”

I bolt up in bed, Haddie’s arms wrapping around my shoulders. My throat is dry, pained from screaming, and my hair is plastered to my sweat drenched neck. I heave for breath, strangled gasps that mingle with Haddie’s quickened pants of exertion, the only sounds I hear. My hands are wrapped protectively around my torso, arms tired from straining so hard.

Haddie runs her hands down the sides of my cheeks, her face inches from mine. “You okay, Ry? Breathe deep, sweetie. Just breathe,” she soothes, her hands running continuously over me, reassuring me, letting me know I’m in the here and now.

I sigh shakily and put my head in my hands for a moment before scrubbing them over my face. Haddie sits down next to me and wraps her arm around me. “Was it the same one?” she asks, referring to my recurring nightmare that was a staple in my nightly slumber for well over a year after the accident.

“Yes and no,” I shake my head. She doesn’t ask, but rather gives me more time to shake the nightmare away. “It was all the same except for when I look back after I hear the baby crying, it’s Colton, not Max, who dies.”