CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE #2
A firefighter EMT wrenched open Mom’s crushed door and reached in, asking her something. I blinked slowly as I watched my door being taken off too. The firefighter tried to ask me something, and I knew I needed to be polite and answer back, but I couldn’t.
The lady put something spongy around my neck and I moaned in pain.
She then cut off my seat belt, and my body slumped forward, but she caught me.
I made out blobs, but couldn’t seem to focus over the throbbing in my head.
I was placed on something before I saw what looked like Mom’s body being taken out, and I tried to move, but couldn’t.
I blinked, hoping to focus my vision, and I winced again, my neck hurt. My ears picked up the sirens as well as the chatter of people around me. Mom cried out and put her hand on her belly.
Worry coursed through me, but I couldn’t do anything. I felt paralyzed and I begged for them to put me next to Mom. Someone must have heard me because they did, and I reached out, grabbing Mom’s hand shakily.
She sobbed profusely as she tried to grip my hand. I glanced around, getting used to my surroundings. My head pounded. I glanced down to the pieces of glass in my arms. There was a flurry of whispers, murmurs, and Mom’s wails.
I kept holding her hand as they tended to our injuries; I realized that I didn’t see Dad anywhere.
“Mom, where’s Daddy?” I whispered, as that’s all my voice could do, and she looked at me sadly. I looked up at the paramedics, their expressions betraying nothing.
One paramedic took Mom and another took me, both muttering they needed to get us to the hospital. The glass they couldn’t remove dug deeper into my arm and the cuts on my face were burning as my tears’ saltiness seeped into them.
I gasped and winced at the car’s busted-up condition. I cried louder, but gasped once more when they took out a body, and my vision focused on a familiar arm with a special tattoo.
“Daddy.” I tried to shout, but it fell as a flat whisper. He stayed still as dread simmered in my belly. That’s not right, he always answers . . . Always.
I tried again, my voice now hoarse, my throat raw.
“Dad, Dad. Wake up,” I said frantically, but the gash on his head kept oozing blood. I whimpered, and looked to the paramedic lady, begging for her to help him. Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t respond.
As they carried him, the lights hit his wounds in a way that I really noticed all of the blood. I had no idea why, underneath the lights, the blood on him scared me so much.
It was like I finally realized what it was, and I hated it.
I glanced down at myself and saw all the blood and cuts and I started to freak out.
I thrashed as they tried to calm me down.
I tried to get the blood off me—scratched at it, even—but all it did was smear, and I frantically clawed at myself.
They rolled me into the ambulance, and new tears had found their way onto my face.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it anymore.
I felt sleepy, then, and I tried to stay awake, but couldn’t.
Mommy, Daddy. Please don’t go.
I shoot up from the bed, panting loudly as my arms tremble beneath me. Blinking, I take in my surroundings, seeing the comfort of my room.
Not in a destroyed car, glass slowly cutting my skin.
The shock radiates through me as tears start to build in my eyes. I cry in silence as I think about the accident. It’s been so long since I’ve thought about it, but whenever I do . . . I’ll never forget how Dad looked. He was so lifeless, so dead, so not him.
Swiping at my tears as they run down my face, light filters into my room. The streetlamps glow under the night sky, and I grab my phone and keys, preparing to leave. Once outside, I walk some before I realize where I’m heading.
Purely due to grief, I find myself in front of the only window that has the light on.
I knock softly at it, hoping. I don’t hear anything and sigh, as he’s probably gone to sleep and maybe left his light on.
Getting ready to turn back, I hear some shuffling and come face-to-face with Liam.
He’s standing there in a plain, white T-shirt and gray sweats, looking at me, confused, and I suddenly want to cry.
I wave slightly, and he signals for me to wait before shutting the curtains. Crossing my arms as a gust of wind blows, it goes right through my flimsy pajamas. He walks out, coming toward me, taking in my troubled look.
“Bianca, what—”
Without thinking twice, forgetting everything that’s happened with Josh, with Mom, with Dad .
. . I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his chest, a sob ripping from me.
He stands there for a minute, probably shocked, and I start to shake as the accident flashbacks circle my brain.
Embarrassed, I pull back and wipe my nose, sniffling slightly, but he doesn’t let me get far as he takes me into his arms.
“Freckles, what’s wrong?” he asks, and my heart beats faster as the nickname leaves his lips. I look up, expecting his expressionless face, but see concern instead. I don’t answer, and instead hide my face in the warmth of his chest once again.
I mutter slowly, “I had a bad dream.”
He sighs before his arms tighten a bit more.
He rests his face on the top of my head, mumbling what he always has.
“It’s okay, you’re safe. I’m here.” He lets me stay in his hold as long as I need to and I lose all sense of time.
His fingers continually run through the strands of my hair, whispering reassurances over and over.
His breath tickles my ear and I shiver, causing him to pull me in closer.
“Do you wanna come in?” he asks after a bit, and while I want to say yes, the argument I had with Josh comes into play.
“I shouldn’t.” He looks as if he wants to say something, but restrains himself. I whimper from the loss of contact as he takes one step back.
“Alright.”
I nod at that, and think I shouldn’t have come. I do want to stay, but I would get in so much trouble. I turn to walk away, my mind cursing at me.
“Bianca, wait.”
His fingers wrap around my wrist, swiftly turning me around. His body and mine end up being so close that I have to look up at him. His eyebrows furrow and his eyes lock with mine.
“I get you don’t want to stay. Would you wanna talk over the phone? I just—” He stops himself, sighs, and lets go of my wrist. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he looks back down. “I wanna make sure you’re really okay.”
My heart warms at the words and I nod. He grabs my phone, puts in his number, and déjà vu washes over me.
He offers to drive me or at least walk me home, but I refuse, knowing it’s not a good idea for him to come anywhere near the house right now.
I walk back home, and the moment I know he can no longer see me, his name lights up my phone.