IT’S LIKE SLOW motion when the other car hits us, barreling in with its blinding headlights. There’s no time to react. There’s no time to do anything. There’s no time at all.
Somewhere in the background Peak screams, or I do, and our car spins, and I think, I always thought dying would be my choice.
“Ridley!”
“Ridley, please, open your eyes.”
“Yes, he’s breathing. Okay. I’m putting you on speaker.”
“Ridley.”
I crack open my eyes, but it’s hard. I’m tired, and something is making them burn. I reach up to wipe it away, and Peak grabs my hand and pushes it down.
“Ridley! Help is coming. Just stay still, okay?”
Help. Yes, Peak said we needed that. I’m glad. I turn my head a little bit, and everything hurts. Everything really hurts, but I need to see her. I need to know she’s okay. She’s clutching her shoulder with her left arm, her right arm gone totally limp. That’s not good, I think, my eyelids drifting shut.
“Ridley, hold on.”
Hold on to what? I wonder. But when I open my mouth to ask, nothing comes out.
“Shh, baby, shhh. You’re okay. You’re okay. They’ll be here in a minute. They’ll—”
She’s still talking, probably. I think I can hear her voice somewhere in the distance, somewhere far away, somewhere I’m dreaming of, like if I listen hard enough, I can almost chase it back. I can almost get there. But I’m so tired.
She’s crying now. I can hear that much, and I want to open my eyes. I want to tell her that everything is fine, probably. If only I could make everything less red.
We were going home. It was going to be okay. She promised.
I’m so tired.
I should sleep.
I should sleep now.
“Ridley, open your eyes.”
“Ridley!”