Page 53 of Crash & Burn

I watch as the realization hits Eddie, and that is when I lose the little control I have. My tears begin to fall, but now that I have started, I don’t want to stop.

“I knew him leaving angry wasn’t good. I knew it, but I didn’t stop him. Or, I didn’t try hard enough because he left anyway. I went to his house the next morning after not hearing from him the rest of the night. He was renting a place with a few friends who were all out of town that weekend, so I let myself in with the key he gave me. I knocked on his bedroom door, but he didn’t answer.” The air was crisp and cold that February morning. There were new piles of snow from the night before. The roads were clear of other cars because it was so early when I went to go see him, but I couldn’t drive as fast as I wanted because of how slick they were from the snow still falling.

Eddie reaches across me to the bedside table to grab a tissue from the box there, and he hands it to me. I can’t control the sniffles coming from my nose as I wipe my cheeks of the loose tears.

He doesn’t say anything, maybe because he doesn’t know what to say, or maybe because he knows I have to finish this story.

“I went in, and his bed was untouched,” I whisper. “He hadn’t been home.” I crumple the now-wet tissue in my palm. “My gut told me something was wrong, so I got back in my car to drive to the one place Nico would go when he needed to clear his head. I still had hope that he calmed down after he left and was still there.”

“Where did he like to go?” Eddie asks in a whisper, like he is concerned that talking too loud will scare this moment away.

“He liked to go to the beach.” North Shore Beach wasn’t actually a beach; it is a lake with sand, and as close as you will get to a beach in Milwaukee. “On my way there, I was racking my brain for ways to apologize to Nico, practicing how I was going to apologize for not listening to his song—the song I will never get out of my head—but I never got the chance to tell him.”

My heart breaks all over again.

To this day, I will never forget seeing his car wrapped around the telephone pole.

“The police said that it was highly unlikely anyone would have been in the area at the time of night it was estimated Nico was driving. It was a cold, snowy February night and the roads were icy.” I pause and close my eyes. The realization of what happened to Nico never gets easier, and I don’t know if it ever will. Nico grew upthere, he knew how to drive in the snow. With the speed he was going, along with the evidence they found at the scene, it was concluded that the crash wasn’t an accident.

And that makes me cry even harder.

My stomach is in knots, and it feels like the room is spinning. My breath starts to feel like I can’t get a hold of it, and my hands begin to shake.

I’m about to have a panic attack.

“Mia,” I hear, but it sounds like Eddie is underwater.

I’m starting to hyperventilate when I hear, “Mia, breathe. You’re okay. I’m here.”

No, I’m not.

I’m not okay.

I squeeze my hands into fists to stop them from shaking, my nails digging into my palms grounds me for a moment, but then my heart starts to feel like it is about to explode.

“Mia, you’re okay. Breathe, baby. You’re okay. Open your eyes.”

I can’t.

I squeeze them shut even tighter.

“Look at me, Mia.”

I feel the bed under me shift, and a presence is closer than it was before. I loosen my fists and rub my palms on my thighs, up and down, focusing on the feeling of my skin on my hands, anything to get out of my head.

“Mia?” I hear one more time before I open my eyes.

It takes me a second to adjust to the light and remember where I am, and then Eddie slowly comes into view. My breathing begins to steady, and I slowly bring my hands up to my face. But, before I can wipe my tears, Eddie reaches for my hands and holds them between his. He puts both of my hands in one of his before using his other hand to slowly swipe his thumb over my cheeks.

He is looking at me, concern all over his face, and I feel like he is looking directly into my soul. He tucks a stray piece of hair from my ponytail behind my ear before bringing his hand back to the other.

“You’re bleeding,” he whispers as he grabs another tissue to wipe the broken skin on my palms. “I should have had you squeeze my hand,” he says under his breath.

A million and one things run through my head, but all that comes out of my mouth is, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Panic attacks happen.”

“I haven’t had one in weeks.”

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