The sudden blaring of a horn startles me to the point where I jump in my seat, both my hands now clutching the wheel.
But it’s too late.
I turn my head just in time to catch a truck aiming straight for me, futility attempting to swerve at the last second. “Holy shit, I’m gonna die.”
My eyes shutter closed and my breath stalls, my body growing rigid as it anticipates the impact I know is imminent. Half a second later, the sickening crunch of metal on metal and the shattering of glass rips through the air. My car spins and my body is thrown, the ancient seat belt doing nothing to hold me securely in place.
Sprays of glass fly every which way as the car continues its trajectory.
My head collides with the driver’s side window, which is mercifully still intact. Unfortunately, that hit is quickly followed by my left forearm smashing into the steering wheel, the full force of my body weight going along with it, and I feel an agonizing snap.
My stomach rolls as a howling scream tears from my lips. My right hand comes up instinctively to cradle it, tears burning my eyes and falling helplessly down my cheeks, mixing with something warm and sticky that can only be blood.
Finally, the car stops moving, the front tires smashing against the curb. A few errant hisses and pops break out into the night only to die just as quickly, leaving me suffused in an eerie silence.
I’m half on my right side, pressed against the plastic center console and emergency brake. My seat belt is cinched across my chest and I can already feel the burn from it. A pain that’s almost insignificant compared to my arm that doesn’t take a doctor to know it’s broken.
Righting my body, I cradle my arm closer to my chest, whimpering and wincing and tensing with every move I make. Without thinking, I unclick my seat belt, anxious to get it off me. The click is so loud I wince again while staring bewilderedly out my front windshield.
“I’m facing the wrong way.” I shake my head at that. My phone. I need my phone. I need to call… someone.
I don’t even know who to call.
I have no one to call.
“Hey,” a voice rasps in sync with a sharp knock on my window. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Can you move?”
Yes, I think, but don’t say to his onslaught of rapid-fire questions.
I think I’m okay.
But I’m definitely hurt. Not dead, but most definitely hurt. “Is that why my life didn’t flash before my eyes?” I whisper to myself. That would have been more like a horror real than a fond sendoff.
Panic and realization start to flow through my veins in toxic waves. My car is no doubt totaled—a car I cannot afford to replace. My arm is broken, and my head is bleeding. I don’t have health insurance. Add to that, I’m so fucking broke and already in so much debt, I have no idea how I’ll possibly be able to pay any of the medical bills I know will come with this.
Especially when I won’t be able to wait tables with a motherfucking broken arm.
The knock comes against the glass again. Right. The other driver. I think I forgot he was there.
Only instead of sitting here, like I probably should since I’m injured, I unlock the door with my right hand and climb out. I can’t stand to be in this car anymore. Not when my life is falling apart on me again. Not when I had finally just hit a good stretch and now a car accident feels like it’s derailing everything.
Dammit.
You’ve survived worse, you’ll survive this. It’s all you can do. Keep fighting the current and eventually you’ll make it upstream.
The man takes a large step back, giving me a wide berth despite him telling me I should stay put and we should call the police and an ambulance since I’m obviously bleeding. I tell him no. I think I do. Maybe I didn’t? I don’t even know. My head feels like it’s on a seesaw. Everything is moving strangely.
My stomach roils and I force myself to swallow the bile as it rises up the back of my throat.
As if that’s not enough there’s a seriously loud whomping sound through my ears. What is that?
“Hey,” the man tries again, this time a bit louder, grasping my shoulder gently as if he’s afraid of hurting me but still needs to force my attention in his direction. Somehow his urgency breaks through my fog, clearing my head a little. “You’re bleeding.” He curses under his breath. “And your arm looks bad.”
“You hit me,” I reply instead of addressing any of that.
I catch him shaking his head. “No. You went right on red against the light.”
“What?” I shake my head in return. That doesn’t even make sense. I don’t do that. I’m a good driver.
“There’s a no right turn on red sign. Right there.” He points to something, but I don’t turn to look. “You went through it while I had a green arrow. I didn’t see you until it was too late.”
It’s my fault then? That makes this so much worse. He’ll sue me. How could I have not noticed that sign? They’re all over this city. But not in my neighborhood and not at all where I’m from, so I didn’t think about it.
“Can you sit back down in your car or on the sidewalk? I’m going to call an ambulance and the police. I don’t like you standing. It’s making me nervous.”
That’s when I start to lose it. When the sobs start coming and my broken body starts trembling. And fuck, that hurts. “I can’t afford an ambulance.”
“Don’t worry about any of that now. We just need to make sure you’re all right. But my phone is in my car and I don’t feel right leaving you standing here like this. So either you’re coming with me to my truck so I can make the call or you’re going to sit back down in yours.”
He has a southern accent. Not much. But it’s there. Different from my accent that is more hillbilly and less smooth twang. I like his voice. His accent too. It’s comforting somehow. I have no idea why a man with a similar accent is soothing right now but I’ll take what I can get.
The man moves directly into my line of sight, pressing something against my forehead and trying to meet my eyes.
“That burns.” And it makes my head spin a little faster.
“It’s just a shirt. I’m trying to stop the bleeding on your hairline.”
“Why are you being nice to me? No one in this city is nice.”
He chuckles and goose bumps explode across my body at the sound. I shudder and he steps in closer. Almost protectively. I look up, right into his eyes before I blink and sway and then drop my gaze. His hand meets my hair, touching the long strands. It’s a strangely intimate gesture. One I don’t understand nor attempt to stop. “What’s your name?” he whispers, his voice suddenly thick. Apprehensive almost.
“Maia Alice Angelo.” Then I shake myself. Why am I giving him my full name?
Finally, I find him again, curious about the man and his voice with its smooth accent I like so much. He’s tall. Like really tall. I mean, I’m tall, but he’s a lot taller than I am and I’m five-ten. He towers over me. He has brown hair and light eyes.
Something about this I find almost amusing.
It’s the exact opposite of me. I have light hair and dark eyes.
He’s also insanely good-looking. And now that really makes me laugh because the fact that this man is hot is the absolute last thing I should be focusing on.