Chapter 20 – Cole-Past #2
After a few more drinks, I start to feel it. The buzz is creeping in, and I’m feeling lighter. More free. My head spins just a little, and I laugh, thinking that I’m probably being a little too cautious. Jackson comes back with a fresh beer in hand and a grin that’s as wide as ever.
“You’re still sober?” he asks, holding up his drink. “Come on, man. Live a little.”
I take another sip, laughing. “I’ve had a few. Just don’t want to get too crazy.”
Jackson shrugs and takes a gulp of his drink. “Whatever, man. But you’re missing out.”
I look at him and nod like I believe it. Getting drunk and reckless and detached is what I need. Deep down, I know this isn’t what I want. This isn’t who I want to be.
As the night wears on, I find myself a little more relaxed. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just the energy of the place, but the thoughts of Kenna fade a little. I’m having fun. I’m laughing, talking with some people, and getting caught up in the chaos.
But there’s a part of me that still misses her. It’s like a dull ache that I can’t quite get rid of. I think about the last time we were together—how perfect it felt. It felt like we were the only two people in the world.
But tonight, she’s not here. And maybe I can’t help but feel a little empty because of it.
By the end of the night, I’m feeling drunker than I thought I would. But I’m still functional. My vision’s a little blurry, my thoughts are muddled, but I’m still coherent enough to drive. Jackson is out of it.
“I’m not walking home, bro,” Jackson says, stumbling over his words. “You've gotta take me back.”
I sigh, knowing I should’ve just stayed home. “Alright, man. Let’s go.”
We stumble out to the car, and I try to steady myself. I know I’ve had a lot to drink, but I don’t feel completely out of control. Still, something in the back of my mind tells me I shouldn’t be driving. I should’ve called a cab, or an Uber, or anything. But it’s too late now.
I remind myself that I’ve driven in worse conditions. I tell myself it’s just a short drive. Wanting to get home, I lie to myself since the truth is inconvenient.
Headlights cut through the shadows as we drive on dark roads. The further out we go, the more isolated it feels. It’s quiet, except for the engine and the radio’s pops and crackles.
Then, just like that, a car appears out of nowhere. It’s heading straight for me, speeding down the wrong side of the road, and I barely have time to react. My heart races as I yank the steering wheel to the right, trying to swerve out of the way.
But it’s too late. The crash is violent. The world tilts on its axis. Metal twists, glass shatters, and I’m thrown against the window with a sickening thud. The pain comes fast, and the last thing I hear before everything goes black is the sound of my scream.
When I wake up, it’s disorienting. The harsh bright lights above me make everything feel unreal. I try to move, but I can’t. Something is restraining my arms. My body feels heavy. Panic surges through me, and I immediately try to sit up. “Jackson?” I rasp, my voice thick and weak.
No answer.
“Jackson!” I try again, my voice breaking. I reach out, but there’s nothing but emptiness. I tug at the restraints, but they’re too tight. My hands are cuffed. Why are my hands cuffed?
I don’t remember what happened. I don’t remember anything except the crash. The fear hits me like a punch to the gut. “Jackson!” I scream this time, louder, desperate.
There’s no reply. And then there’s just blackness.
I wake up to white walls surrounding me. The sterile smell of a hospital room. The beeping of a monitor beside me. But what catches my attention is the police officer standing in the doorway. His gaze is serious, and his face unreadable.
“You’re awake,” he says, his voice flat. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
I blink, trying to make sense of it. “Where’s Jackson? What happened?”
The officer’s face softens for just a second, and it hits me then—something’s wrong.
“You’re the only one who survived the crash,” the officer says slowly, his voice filled with an ominous weight. “The others didn’t make it.”
My stomach drops. “Others?”
“Jackson...he didn’t survive.” The words land like a blow, and for a second, I can’t breathe. My heart feels like it’s being crushed in my chest. I try to say something, anything, but no words come.
The officer continues, “You’re being arrested for driving under the influence and vehicular manslaughter.”
The word lands like a bomb in my chest. Manslaughter.
I try to focus, but my head is spinning. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I don’t care. All I can think about is Kenna. I need her. I need to see her. I can’t be here. I can’t stay here without her.
But I can’t. The police officer steps back, his gaze flicking to something outside my room. I follow his line of sight, and through the window, I see more police outside my room. And the flood of regret and guilt hits me harder than anything I’ve ever felt in my life.
Kenna...I can’t get her out of my mind. I need her. But I know I’ll never be able to tell her how sorry I am. Not now. Not like this.
It feels like everything’s moving in slow motion. Every day that passes feels heavier than the last, like time itself is just dragging me through a never-ending nightmare.
I sleep in broken stretches, waking in the middle of the night with sweat clinging to my skin, the image of Jackson’s face burned into my eyelids. Sometimes I think I hear him laughing. Sometimes I think I can still feel his hand clapping me on the back. Then I remember I killed him.
They tell me I blacked out for a while after waking up. I screamed for hours. That they had to sedate me. I don’t remember it. But I believe it.
I’ve spent the last few days in the hospital, strapped to a bed, barely able to move without triggering some additional pain or overwhelming sensation.
They’ve patched me up physically, but my mind?
My mind is still shattered. The guilt, the fear, the confusion.
.. it’s all there, gnawing at me from the inside out.
But I’m not the same person I was when I got here. The crash changed me. Losing Jackson—one of my best friends—has torn something inside me, and it hasn’t healed. I barely sleep through the night, constantly replaying the moment in the car. The swerve. The impact. The way everything went black.
And the silence after. That terrifying, unnatural silence.
Now I’m sitting here, slumped in a sterile hospital room with a guard outside the door, knowing that the end of this nightmare isn’t just around the corner.
I can feel the weight of the police presence in the air, the uncertainty of what’s coming.
My mom’s been here, visiting for short, quiet moments, but I haven’t spoken to her much.
What’s there to say? She’s been on the phone with lawyers, trying to figure out what’s going to happen next.
All I know is that the words “homicide” and “DUI” keep echoing in my mind.
I don’t even remember getting in the car.
But it doesn’t matter.
Intentions don’t erase consequences.
They tell me I’m well enough to leave the hospital now.
They’ve patched me up, but the true damage.
..that’s the stuff that’s harder to fix.
It’s not just the cuts and bruises on my body—it’s what’s broken inside.
What I did. What I caused. And now, as I sit in this cold hospital room, it feels like the world is closing in on me, suffocating me with each passing moment.
They load me into a wheelchair, and I’m too tired, too emotionally drained to argue.
The handcuffs around my wrists are a harsh reminder of my fate.
I can’t even remember the last time I felt free.
A police officer pushes me down the hallway to a waiting patrol car parked outside the hospital, its lights flashing red and blue, cutting through the night.
The cool air bites at my skin as they pull me into the back of the car, slamming the door shut behind me. The sirens are blaring for a moment, and I can’t help but think about how surreal this is. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I wasn’t supposed to be here.
I can’t look at the officer sitting beside me.
He’s not here to make small talk, and I’m not in the mood for it, anyway.
My throat is tight, and every breath feels like a struggle.
I’m holding onto this fragile thread of calm, but it’s slipping away with every turn of the wheels. Every mile brings me closer to jail.
The drive is quiet. The only sounds are the hum of the engine and the occasional chatter from the police radio. But then, out of nowhere, the car comes to a slow stop. I already know where this is headed as we pull up to the courthouse or police station.
They open the door and escort me out of the car. My legs are shaky, like I might collapse under the weight of everything that’s happening. They march me into a room, my mom waiting inside, looking exhausted and broken.
Her eyes are red, and her lips tremble as she looks at me. I don’t know what she’s been through, but I can tell this is the last place she ever wanted to be—standing in front of her son, a criminal.
She opens her arms, and I don’t hesitate. I step into her embrace, feeling the weight of her love but also the disappointment that hangs between us like an invisible wall. I don’t deserve her comfort right now, but I’m grateful for it.
“Mom…I’m sorry,” I say, my voice cracking. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her hands resting on my shoulders. There’s pain in her eyes, but there’s something else too—determination, like she’s trying to hold herself together for both of us.
“We’ll figure it out, Cole,” she whispers, but her voice is steady. “But you need to understand, things will not be easy. This isn’t just going to go away.”
I nod, but I can barely hold eye contact with her. Every word she says cuts deeper, like she’s reminding me of just how much I’ve screwed up. I can feel the weight of my actions pressing down on me, but there’s nothing I can do to make it better.
“I’ve spoken to some lawyers,” she continues, her voice growing softer now.
“We have options, but they’re limited. The best-case scenario, Cole, is that you plead guilty.
If you do that, there might be a deal—a plea bargain.
We don’t know yet if it’ll work, but it’s the only option that could get you a reduced sentence. ”
I feel my stomach drop. A plea deal? It sounds like a nightmare. Pleading guilty to something I can’t take back, to something that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
“You’re telling me I have to own up to this,” I whisper, my throat tight with emotion. “I already lost Jackson. And now I’m supposed to lose everything else too?”
She looks down for a moment, like she’s trying to find the right words.
When she speaks again, her voice cracks a little.
“I’m not going to tell you it’s going to be easy.
It won’t be. But you have to understand something, Cole.
If you don’t take this opportunity to make things right, it’s only going to get worse. We’re running out of time.”
I want to scream, but I don’t. I just stand there, paralyzed by the gravity of it all. The worst part? I know she’s right. I messed up. The crash is not something I can take back. I can’t bring Jackson back. I can’t undo any of this.
“I’m not saying I forgive you, Cole,” she continues, her voice quieter now. “But you’re my son. And I’ll fight for you. We’ll do everything we can.”
I nod, but it feels hollow. I want to tell her I’m sorry. I want to promise her I’ll make things right. But I don’t know how. How do you make up for something like this? How do you live with yourself when you know you’re the reason someone’s dead?
I feel like a stranger in my life now. My whole life has flipped upside down, and I’m just drifting in the middle of it, powerless to stop the chaos.
The officer steps forward, signaling that it’s time for her to leave. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Parker, but we need to process him now.”
I look at my mom one last time. Her face is a mask of pain and love, and I can’t stand that I’ve put her through this.
“I’ll be back,” she says, her voice strong despite the tears in her eyes. “We’ll get through this, okay? I love you, Cole.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper back, but it feels empty. Like the words don’t mean enough anymore.
They take me away, handcuffed again, and I feel a hollow emptiness settle over me as they lead me down the cold hallways. My heart pounds in my chest, each step feeling heavier than the last. The door to the holding cell slams shut behind me, and I finally let myself collapse onto the bench inside.
I think of Kenna—what I’ve done to her. What she must think of me now. I can’t fix this. I can’t undo the damage. And I don’t know how I’m going to live with myself when everything I love is slipping away.
In the silence of that cell, I finally let myself break.