20. AGAINST THE CLOCK
AGAINST THE CLOCK
The road is dark and slick as I get on the highway, and I think about how I should’ve left a little earlier when there was better visibility.
Rain is pounding against my windshield, slowing me down, and at this rate, I’ll be lucky if I make it to my destination at all.
I’m tempted to pull over and wait the storm out, turn on my hazard lights, and just hope it doesn’t take hours.
I can’t see shit as I set my wipers to the fastest setting, slowing down significantly, at least twenty miles under the speed limit. Still, it doesn’t feel like enough.
Of course, there are no lights to illuminate my way, and I can no longer see the taillights in front of me, which means the car ahead of me either pulled over or got off the highway at what I’m assuming is an exit.
An exit I can’t fucking see at all. They must have been using a damn GPS.
I am too, except it’s supposed to be taking me somewhere far away, though now I really can’t recall where that is. Where the hell am I going?
My phone buzzes from the cupholder, and I lift it up, taking my eyes off the road, smiling at Kenneth’s name on my screen.
I unlock the phone with Face ID and frown, beginning to read an apology message on the screen, though I’m not entirely sure why he’s apologizing in the first place.
I shake my head, hitting the button to send a voice message, but suddenly I hear more than feel a boom echoing in my ears.
But then I do feel it, the way my stomach dips, the lightness in my chest as the car flips and spins on its roof, the way my head crashes against the window right before it settles.
I’m upside down in the car, and I look around frantically for my phone, seeing that it’s just out of reach.
I try to unbuckle my seatbelt to no avail.
It’s stuck. It’s fucking stuck! My lungs burn as I frantically pull at it, the way it’s constricting my chest and pelvis making me panic, but it just won’t budge.
With trembling hands, I inhale sharply, then try again.
It’s absolutely futile. I push against the airbag, trying to get away from it, but that’s crushing me too.
I can taste blood in my mouth, and then I’m coughing, the metallic taste filling my throat.
Looking to the side, I throw it up, which I just know can’t be good.
My eyes widen when I see it land on the roof, and I shake my head.
No. No fucking way I go out like this. I haven’t said goodbye to Kenneth. I can’t—
Of course, my Bluetooth is still playing music, and a song about dandelions and forever comes on, taunting me, mocking me. I shake my head again, my eyes stinging, and tears finally trail down my cheeks.
“No,” I whisper. “Fuck this—no!”
I hear thunder in the background, loud and booming and sounding really close. A car honks its horn, and I scream again.
“Help!” My throat feels raw from how loudly I scream, but I’m desperate now. Nothing matters except getting the fuck out of this car right now. “Someone help me, please!”
“Connie,” I hear from far away, and I look around frantically, sensing Kenneth’s presence but not seeing him. I frown because what the hell is he doing here? “Conrad! Connie, please wake up.”
I frown even harder, shaking my head, unable to make sense of what he’s saying. Why would I wake up? I’m right here. I’m right fucking here!
“Baby.” Kenneth’s voice is broken, and I feel someone shake me hard. I blink rapidly, but when I open my eyes, I’m surrounded by darkness. I shoot up in bed immediately, realizing it was all a dream. It was a nightmare. It wasn’t fucking real. “Conrad. Thank god.”
“Ken,” I whisper, grabbing Kenneth by his arm and hauling him toward me, crushing him to my chest. I spread my legs, and he settles between them, pressing his nose to my neck.
It’s now that I notice I’m trembling. Well, shaking is more like it.
My bones are rattling as I try to hold him, but my arms aren’t strong enough to keep him close.
Instead, he does all the work, kissing my throat and wrapping himself around me. “Kenny, fuck, I—”
“What happened?” he asks softly, his voice hitching. He sounds scared, and I wonder what’s got him like this. “You were yelling and—” Ken shakes his head. “You really scared me.”
“I lost you,” I whimper. “I-I can’t lose you, Kenny, but I did. I died. I lost you, and I didn’t get to say goodbye. Fuck, baby—”
“I’m right here, baby,” Kenneth reassures me, shifting to straddle my lap. He presses his forehead against mine and tries to get as close as possible. “I’m here. You’re safe. It was just a dream.”
I shake my head fiercely. “No, Ken, you don’t understand.” I feel tears trailing down my cheeks, landing in my hair. “I died. I died, and I left you behind. I lost you forever—”
“You can’t lose me,” Ken whispers against my lips, then kisses me gently. His fingers thread through my hair tightly, anchoring me to him, and I settle a little. “There’s no way you’ll ever lose me. I’m yours forever, remember?”
Kenneth gets off me, and I cry out, reaching for him immediately, but he just turns me over and gets behind me.
I grab his arm to get him closer until he’s spooning me, my body relaxing slightly, and I finally stop shaking.
He wraps his arms around me tighter, holding me as close as possible, somehow even closer.
“You’re shaking,” Kenneth says softly, his hand splayed over my heart, pressing a little harder.
I didn’t even realize I was still doing it, but I am, and somehow I shake harder with the knowledge of it. I go stiff, trying to stop it. “I’m okay.”
“You’re a terrible liar at two in the morning.”
I try to laugh, but it breaks, and Ken doesn’t push anymore. Instead, he tugs the blanket over us, as if he can physically shield us from the dark.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, voice soft and soothing.
“I told you I dreamed that I lost you,” I say quietly, and he squeezes me tighter. “I was in a car accident. It was raining, and someone hit me, and the car flipped. I died.”
Kenneth grabs my wrist and links our fingers, then brings our hands back to my chest, right over my heart. It’s comforting, and I know that’s what he wants me to feel. “It wasn’t real, baby. You’re okay. We’re going to be okay.”
“You don’t know that,” I insist, my nostrils flaring with frustration, and I let go of his hand. Because somehow it feels like something that happened to me or will happen to me. It feels fucking real.
“No. Maybe I don’t,” he admits softly, kissing the back of my neck. It makes me relax slightly.
The honesty of it makes me ache inside even more, though. It’s not reassuring. Kenneth’s fingers trail from my shoulder to the tip of my fingers, then he grabs my hand again, his touch impossibly tender.
“But I know this.” His voice drops to almost a whisper. “If there’s a life where you exist, I’ll find you in it.” My breath catches. “I don’t care how long it takes me. I don’t care whether we get years together or days. I think some part of me has belonged to you long before we ever met.”
The silence turns heavy and enormous, and my stomach twists.
“And if something happens?” I ask.
Kenneth’s hold on me tightens, and the breath whooshes out of my lungs with force. But then he kisses the back of my neck tenderly again, and I melt into the bed.
“Then you love me there,” Kenneth says with conviction. Firmly. “And I’ll love you here. And somehow, eventually, we’ll find our way back to the same place.”
“You feel inevitable,” I admit softly. “Like something that was always meant to be mine.”
“We are inevitable,” Ken reassures me, burying his nose in my hair. He sighs softly. “So, if you’re scared, then be scared with me. But don’t think for one second there’s a version of my life where I stop loving you.”
I sniffle. “And if I’m gone?”
“Then I’ll love you long enough for both of us.”
That has to be enough.
It has to.
Kenneth buries his nose in my hair and inhales deeply, making a little sound of happiness, causing me to smile.
His arms tighten around me, and before long, I hear him fall asleep again.
I don’t think he meant to, but he’s really tired.
I don’t blame him, though. Instead, I try to close my eyes and sleep too, shaking my head when images from my dream come back to haunt me.
No.
It wasn’t real.
Get it out of your head.
I sigh and try to clear my mind, and before long, I’m falling asleep too.
This time, there are no bad dreams. I’m just wrapped up in a cocoon of warmth that smells and feels like Kenneth.
It’s soothing, and I lean into it, hoping above all that I never dream of this again.
Because I can’t stand the thought of losing him.
That’s my biggest fear.
Why did it feel so real?