Chapter 30- Oliver
The world feels different after that weekend.
Lighter.
Softer.
Like someone turned the brightness up on my life without telling me.
I’m driving through town with the windows cracked, the late-afternoon sun spilling across the dashboard in warm streaks. The radio hums quietly — some song I’m not really listening to — and the breeze carries that early-evening chill that always reminds me of her.
My mind keeps drifting back to Ellie — her sleepy smile that morning, the way she curled into me like she belonged there, the way she whispered “five more minutes” into my chest like she never wanted to leave.
I haven’t stopped thinking about it.
About her.
About us.
Moony is in the backseat, head sticking between the front seats, ears perked like she’s waiting for me to say something important. I reach back and scratch behind her ear.
“You miss her too, huh?” I say softly.
Moony’s tail thumps.
I smile.
Everything feels… good.
Steady.
Hopeful.
I’m supposed to pick up a few things from the store — nothing major. Just a normal errand on a normal day. But even that feels different now. Like the world is tinted with the memory of Ellie’s laugh.
I stop at a red light, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. My phone buzzes in the cupholder — a text from Ellie.
Ellie: Did you feed Moony yet? She’s probably starving lol
I laugh under my breath. “She’s fine,” I say out loud, even though she can’t hear me.
The light turns green.
I ease my foot onto the gas.
And that’s when it happens.
A sharp, grinding sound.
Metal scraping.
A sudden, violent jolt beneath my feet.
The brake pedal sinks uselessly to the floor.
My heart slams into my throat.
“What—?”
The car lurches forward.
The world tilts.
Moony barks, startled.
I pump the brakes again — nothing.
Nothing.
The intersection rushes toward me too fast.
Too bright.
Too loud.
A semi-truck barrels into view from the left.
Time slows.
I yank the wheel.
The tires scream.
Moony yelps.
My breath catches in my chest.
And all I can think is—
Ellie.
Impact.
A deafening crash.
Metal folding.
Glass exploding.
The world is sideways.
Or maybe I am.
Everything is ringing — sharp, high, endless — like someone struck a bell inside my skull and it won’t stop vibrating. My vision blurs in and out, colors smearing together. The air tastes like metal and smoke.
Moony is whining somewhere behind me. I try to turn toward her, but my body won’t move. My limbs feel heavy, distant, like they belong to someone else.
My fingers fumble blindly across the shattered glass until they brush my phone. I drag it toward me, every movement slow and heavy, like I’m underwater.
I hit Ellie’s name.
The call connects.
“Ellie…” My voice cracks, barely a breath. “Please… come…”
I swallow, the taste of blood thick on my tongue.
“I’m… by our park…”
The words scrape out of me, weak and broken.
She says my name — sharp, terrified — but the phone slips from my hand before I can answer.
The ringing in my ears grows louder. Sirens wail in the distance — faint at first, then closer, closer, closer — but I can’t turn my head to see them. I can’t see anything.
The world keeps fading in and out like a dying lightbulb.
Minutes pass. Or maybe seconds. Time doesn’t feel real anymore.
Voices blur around me — paramedics shouting, doors slamming, footsteps pounding on pavement.
I try to focus.
Try to breathe.
Try to stay awake.
But everything feels far away.
Then… a shape. A familiar one.
I blink hard, forcing my eyes to focus.
Ellie.
She’s standing just beyond the flashing lights, Moony in her arms, her face pale and terrified. Her eyes are wide, searching, begging for me to look at her.
I do.
Just for a second.
Her lips tremble. She whispers my name like a prayer.
And suddenly… everything inside me goes quiet.
Not peaceful in a good way — peaceful in a final way. Like my body is letting go before I’m ready.
I try to hold onto her face — the fear in her eyes, the way she clutches Moony like she’s holding onto the last piece of me — but the edges of my vision darken.
The sirens fade.
The voices fade.
Even Ellie fades.
All I feel is stillness.
And then nothing at all.