Page 263 of Before We Were

He makes a note in my chart.

"Do you remember anything else from that night? Your intended destination?"

The space between then and now yawns like an abyss, dark and full of questions I'm not sure I want answered. I hesitate, drawing in a breath that feels like inhaling shattered glass. The memories of my fight with Jake surface first—harsh words echoing in my mind before I stormed away to my car.

"I remember driving on the M80." My voice wavers like a candle flame in wind.

"I was heading to a bar just outside of town to pick up a friend but then a car was swerving on the opposite side of the road and before I could??—"

The words die in my throat as the memories crash over me like a tidal wave.

The headlights exploding in my vision like supernovas. The horrific symphony of metal screaming against metal, glass bursting around me like deadly rain. The impact that felt like the world itself had stopped spinning. Then the acrid cocktail of smoke and gasoline burning my nostrils, and a voice—that voice—calling my name, sending ice through my veins despite the heat of the wreckage.

"Your blood results showed no alcohol or drugs in your system."

I nod, fingers twisting in the scratchy hospital blanket until my knuckles turn white.

"Did you see the other driver?"

My eyes slam shut, heart hammering against broken ribs as the final pieces of that night crystallize in my mind.

The voices float back, clear as day:

"No. Fuck, it's you."

"Should we call an ambulance?"

"No. We need to go. Now."

“Do you know her?"

"Get in the car."

"We can't just leave her! She's still breathing."

"No," I whisper, the lie tasting like copper on my tongue. "I didn't see anyone."

"That's okay. With rest, you might start to remember more details. Just don't push too hard," he assures me. "We can revisit this when your mind is clearer."

"No." The word comes out sharper than intended. "That's all I can remember. I was alone and blacked out before I woke up here."

The lie comes easily, born from years of protecting others before myself. Maybe it was just another hallucination, another trick of my trauma-addled brain. But deep down, beneath the fog of medication and fear, I know—I know that voice, and the thought of what Nate would do if he knew terrifies me more than any lie.

Dr. Aldridge studies me, his clipboard hanging loosely at his side.

"This is classified as a hit and run, Nora. A serious one—you could have died on that road if you hadn't been found. The police will follow up as protocol, so note down anything you remember."

He gestures to the notepad on my bedside table, pristine and waiting for truths I'm not ready to tell. "I'm here if you need to talk."

"Thank you," I manage, words feeling hollow and inadequate.

His smile is gentle but strained.

"Ready for visitors? Your mother and brother are waiting, but we can hold off if you need rest."

I think of Mom, haunting waiting room chairs for three weeks, living the same nightmare she endured with Dad. My fingers find the 'fearless' bracelet again, its familiar edges grounding me in this new reality where truth and lies dance on a knife's edge.

"You can send them in."

---