29. Declan #2
There are a thousand questions bouncing around in my head, but I ignore them and plug the address into my phone before speeding off into the night.
My hands grip the wheel so tightly that my knuckles lose all their color.
I check my phone. It says only five more minutes, but when I round the next corner, a flashing red light catches my eye.
That’s when I see it. A car is completely wrapped around the trunk of an oak tree, glass shattered everywhere, the turn signal still blinking.
I should check for injuries and call 911, but all I can think about is getting to Skylar.
There’s this psychiatric phenomenon called cognitive avoidance.
I’m not sure how I remember it from my freshman year intro psych class, but I do.
It’s when your brain shuts out certain details or sensations when you’re in a traumatic situation.
As I get out of the car and turn on the flashlight on my phone, it’s the only reason I can think of as to why I don’t realize that the car I'm staring at is the same color as Skylar’s or that it has her custom vanity plate.
Noozgirl. I chuckled to myself when I first saw it at her dad’s house, thinking she wasn’t the type to have a vanity plate and that she must have lost a bet.
I didn’t bring it up at the time, but now as I take in the mangled metal and smoke swirling up from the wreckage, all I want to do is ask her about it.
I want to know if she really wanted it. I want to know if she did it for someone else, or if she smiled to herself when she filled out the form at the DMV.
I bring the phone up to my ear automatically, the ringing shallow and echoing like it’s coming from somewhere else.
“There’s been a car accident,” someone says. “Shadowbridge Road at the corner of Chestnut.” It takes me a second to realize the voice is mine.
“Are you hurt, sir? Is there anyone else with you?” The voice on the other end sounds as distant as the ringing, as if it's not actually there.
“I’m….”
“Sir, are you still there? We have an ambulance en route to your location.”
My hand falls, and the thirty seconds it takes for the denial to dissipate and reality to filter in will haunt me for the rest of my life.
When it finally hits, I run. Past the tire tracks and the glass scattered along the side of the road.
I almost slip on the oil-slicked asphalt as I skid to a stop in front of the car.
The windshield is a mess of spiderweb cracks that catch the light of my phone.
It’s hard to see, but when I look to the side, I can make out her form through the shattered window.
Skylar is slumped forward against the deflated airbag.
Her dark red hair is covered in glass and blood, falling over her face the way it does when she’s sleeping.
It’s damp, matted from the rain, or maybe she took a shower before she left the house.
Her seatbelt is still fastened, one of her hands resting loosely near the steering wheel.
The other is folded in her lap, her fingers curled, like she tried to grab onto something.
A thin line of blood runs down from her temple, but I can’t see anything else below her neck.
I can’t see if her chest is rising or still, if there’s more blood or injuries.
I try the handle of the door, but it doesn’t budge. I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I just drive my fist through the remaining glass until there’s a big enough hole for me to climb through. I’m vaguely aware of the pressure against my arm as a jagged shard bites into me, but it doesn’t hurt.
“Skylar.” Her name feels more like a plea than a greeting, but she flicks open her eyes, her lips turning up into a small smile.
“Declan.”
“Hey, Firefly.”
Her chest is rising and falling but not in the way it should.
It seems to inflate only partially and then catches halfway through the breath.
Something is wrong. She looks like she wants to say something else, but her head lolls to the side, and blood from her temple slides down across her cheek with the movement, dripping onto the collapsed airbag.
My eyes are drawn to where it sags against her, and that’s when I see it.
More blood, soaking the front of her sweatshirt beneath the seatbelt.
It’s dark, and I watch helplessly as it spreads, each thread of fabric turning red.
No. No, no, no.
Ripping off my jacket, I press it to her belly. It’s hard to tell where the blood is coming from, so I apply pressure in the middle. She lets out a small groan.
“Skylar.” Her eyes start to close. “Baby, look at me,” I plead.
Her eyes flutter again, but they’re heavy, as if she’s using every bit of strength to keep them open.
“An ambulance is on the way, but you have to stay with me, baby. You have to keep those pretty eyes open. Can you do that for me?”
She nods, but they close again.
“I’m tired, Declan,” she croaks. “I’m so tired.”
“I know you are, baby. I know, but you have to stay awake just a little bit longer.”
“Declan?” My name on her pale lips is a question, as if she forgot the last five minutes.
“I’m here, Sky. You’re okay.”
She moves her head to my shoulder, snuggling against it. “You’re so warm.”
I don’t know what to do. The ambulance should be here any minute. I know enough not to try to move her. It might cause more bleeding. All I can do is stay with my hand pressed firmly against the jacket, her head on my shoulder, and wait.
“Dec?” she says softly.
“Yeah, baby. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Ashton…” Her voice is labored. “Wasn’t my first kiss.”
“It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to—”
“No, I want you to know. I-I kissed you when you were asleep. The day we met. I know I sh-shouldn’t have.”
My heart sinks. “Skylar, don’t—” She’s shivering now, so I lean in closer, hoping she can absorb my body heat.
“But I did it, anyway. I k-kissed you and it was the b-best first kiss. You want to know why?”
“Baby, don’t…” I beg.
“Because I love you, Dec. Always have. Always will.”
No. She’s not trying to make conversation to pass the time. She’s saying goodbye. Fuck that.
“Skylar, listen to me. You don’t get to say that to me right now. The ambulance is almost here. Hang the fuck on. Do you hear me?”
I mean for it to come out as a demand, but it’s more of a plea. Something hot falls against my cheek and it takes me a second to realize I’m crying. How did we get here? How did she go from healing all our old wounds, sleeping soundly against my chest, to fighting for her life?
“It’s okay, Declan.” Her soft voice is a caress and a stab to my heart at the same time. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Fuck. She’s going into shock. Her eyes close again, and this time they don’t reopen. Sirens scream in the distance. Her body goes limp, the hand she had placed on my thigh falling open to reveal the ring I made her, still fitted snug against her finger.
“Hang on, baby. Look at me. Fucking look at me, Skylar! They’re almost here,” I roar as I brush the blood-matted hair from her eyes, but she doesn’t open them.
The sirens grow louder, and now I can see the flashing lights, blue and red splotches dancing across her lifeless body.