She also makes me smile twice, and it’s been a long time since someone’s made me smile. When I realize what kind of emotions are emerging inside me, I panic and my thoughts get jumbled. I almost end up asking her to come inside with me, and that’s the last thing I want to do with a girl like her, one that will actually talk to me instead of just fuck me. The ones that have no substance and like to fuck are the ones I’ll never care about, and that’s what I need—deserve. Plus, it’s already been made pretty clear that Tristan has a thing for her, and he’s the last person I’d ever want to steal a girl from.
Luckily Dylan walks outside right as I’m about to ask Nova to come into the house, and I take the opportunity to make a quick exit back inside and make a beeline straight for the fridge to get a beer.
Tristan scrutinizes me from the couch with his feet kicked up on the coffee table, as he works to clean the resin out of a glass pipe with a small pocket knife. “What were you doing out there?”
I grab a beer and slam the fridge door shut. “Just talking.”
“With Nova.” He frowns, obviously not thrilled about the idea.
I pop the cap off the beer and toss it in the trash. “Yeah, but you don’t need to worry.”
He sets the pipe down on the table by his feet. “Who said I was worried?”
I shrug and cross the living room, ready to lock myself up in my room, so I can singe my brain cells away and draw for hours. “I was just under the impression you had a thing for her.”
He doesn’t say anything and the tension between us builds. I duck underneath the curtain, wishing that I wasn’t here, wishing that it was a year ago and that I would have gotten the car pulled over in time.
After I make it into my room and lock the door, I go to the two things that make me feel content. I grab the pipe and bag of weed Tristan lent me from off the dresser and my sketchpad from out of my duffel bag, then I sink down on the bed. I set the sketchpad aside, take the lighter out of my pocket, and pack the pipe before putting the mouthpiece up to my lips. Flicking the lighter, I suck in a deep breath and inhale the numbness in large, welcoming breaths. Once my lungs are charred and the restlessness in my body has stilled, I lean back against the bed, prop the sketchbook on my knees, and start to trace lines on a drawing I’ve been working on for a year but have never been able to complete. Because once I finish it, I’ll finally have to accept that Lexi’s really gone. And that I killed her.
I keep drawing and drawing, smoking bowl after bowl, until I’m so lost in my own head, all that’s left to do is pass out. I toss my sketchpad aside and lay down on the filthy mattress, shutting my eyes, hoping I’m high enough that the nightmares don’t take over my sleep. But usually, I’m not that lucky.
Blood gushes down my forehead, down my cheeks, so thick I can barely see. My chest is aching, the pain more unbearable then when I accidentally smashed my thumb with a hammer and broke all the bones in it. I feel like I can’t move, and I have to work to keep my lungs gasping for air.
I’m upside down, the blood is rushing to my head, and the sky is now the floor of the car. There are rocks and dirt and glass everywhere, and I can see a continuously flashing light out of my peripheral vision.
I cough, and blood streams from my lips. Searching around the dark, I feel around until I find the buckle to the seat belt. I push the button, the buckle slips out, and the strap on my shoulders loosens. I fall down, hitting my head on the mangled roof of the car. I cough up some more blood as I turn on my side and push myself up on my hands and knees, blinking through the pain ringing through my skull, and crawl out of the car. I glance back inside, noting that no one is left in the car. Where did they go? Did they climb out and go to get help? Did they… did they get thrown out? I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who had a seat belt on. Why didn’t I make them put theirs on?
It’s hard to see anything but the headlights flashing through the trees surrounding the lake, and all I can hear is the waves rushing toward me. Sucking in a breath, I stagger to my feet and stumble across the gravel, broken glass and crunched metal, grunting at the pain that erupts through my chest. My shirt is ripped open and so is my chest, and blood pours out of my skin, soaking the fabric. It hurts more than my brain can register, but the pain doesn’t matter. I need to find Lexi.
Hunched over, I stagger up the edge of the road. “Lexi…” I cough, stumbling over my own feet. I fall into the gravel and my palms split open “Lexi…” My voice is weak, nearly soundless, but I push back to my feet and keep walking up the road. But a few steps up the road my knees give out on me and I crumple to the asphalt. God damn it, this is all my fault. I reach for my phone, but it’s not in my back pocket.
My hand shakes as I try to remember what happened. We hit the other car, and then flipped a few times, before settling near the lake. “Shit…” I struggle to breathe, my eyelids growing heavy as I roll onto my back and stare at the sky. I’m about to give into exhaustion when I hear her voice.
“Quinton…” It’s barely audible, but it gives me hope.
I don’t know how, but I somehow I manage to get to my feet and run toward the sound of her voice, even as I lose more blood and I grow more light-headed. None of it matters, though. The pain. The injuries. How I feel inside and out. I just need to get to her. As I stumble around one of the trees and trip through the grass, I hear her voice again. I follow the sound, slowing down as the outline of her body comes into view, and suddenly all I want to do is lie down and die beside her.