Page 19 of Vow of Vengeance
I hated his girlfriends, the perfume he'd smell like when he came to hang out when I sneaked out of the house to meet him at the park every Friday night. I hated the hickeys on his neck and the way I wanted to be the one to leave them. I hated the way he texted other people, and the way he refused to kiss me despite how many times we sat close together on that park bench, our heavy breaths fogging the chilly night. I hated that he would treat me like a child when I told him I wanted something more, the way he refused my sexual requests until the night of my sixteenth birthday, when he finally gave in for the first time on the picnic blanket under the stars. I hated how he insisted we had to keep it a secret for a whole year, and I hated how when I introduced my Nana to him, he lied and said we'd met at the mall. I hated that when she died, he didn't offer to let me stay with him until his Uncle Tony offered me a place.
Now I can't help but wonder if he ever loved me at all... if he ever even wanted me. Looking back, there are so many signs that he didn't, so many signs that he never wanted anything from me. He flirted with me but also refused me, so I know it didn't start because I was willing to spread my legs for him. We were rooted in something real, a genuine connection over the song our screennames were based on. That information carried me through so many of the down days, nights where I lay in bed wondering why he didn't want to marry me, why he didn't want to have a child with me.
But now, knowing that he was the fucking devil all along, I'm more confused than ever.
Mom's laughing, the sunlight glittering on her dark hair as she turns to me. It's nice to see her laughing. She's been so tired lately, working long hours and coming home late. I've orderedpizza twice the last week and lived on the leftovers in between. But today, she's been happy. It was a good day, shopping at the mall in the city.
She received a bonus, she said, and she wanted to treat us both to a girl's day. We left the mall with her pockets a whole lot lighter, but also with so much of the stress of the last few months gone. She promised me that we were going to be able to stay in our home, and that knowledge was worth all the struggle in the world. Not having to move and start over again, the way we had when I was a kid, was the greatest gift she could have given me.
I am laughing too when the crunch shreds the night air in two. My breath is already leaving my chest in a yell when the pressure feels like it's going to tear me apart.
It all happens so fast, but I see the red shape of the car that must have hit us. But we don't come to a dead stop, the way I'd think you would when cars collide. Mom's head slams against the steering wheel, but her foot stays on the gas, accelerating as the other car pushes us into a tailspin.
"Mom!"
I scream, trying to reach for her, to wake her up. But from the corner of my eye, I see the guardrail just before I slam against it. My head cracks against the window, and then everything is spinning.
When I open my eyes, I'm underwater. Or at least, it feels that way. I can't hear anything, and the images lit up by the glow from above me are fuzzy.
I reach for my forehead, trying to ease the sudden headache when I feel the sharp pain.
My fingers come away wet, and when I blink enough to focus the image in front of me, I see the blood that stains my fingertips.
I know I should feel panic, but I don't feel anything except the pain. I don't even remember what happened, but I know that it hurts, and I feel like I can't breathe. I feel like I've been hit by a truck, like my ribs are collapsing and crushing my heart from the outside. I lift my head enough to glance at my chest, looking to see if there's an elephant sitting on me. There's nothing, but beyond me I can see figures. Men.
I open my mouth to call for help, but nothing comes out. I don't know if I just can't hear if I make a noise, or if my voice is somehow broken. Either way, I'm rendered mute, unable to speak, unable to move. I can feel a tear slip down my cheek, but I can't wipe it away either.
It takes a minute for it all to come back to me— the few seconds of awareness between impact and whenever I must have lost consciousness.
Mom.
I think I try to call out, straining my neck to try and look for her. It's dark, and I'm lying on something hard and lumpy. The ground is uneven, which makes it hard to see anything for a certain distance. There's no sign of my mom anywhere... or the car. I try to call for her again, straining to look the other way.
I don't see anything other than the figures at a distance, leaning together like they're having an intense conversation. One looks at me, and then the other does, too.
"Help."
This time, my ear pops like I was on a plane, and I can hear my plea. Sound comes rushing back with it— my shallow breaths, voices, arguing.
There's a strange hissing sound somewhere, and the fog that hangs in the air doesn't seem to be just my cloudy vision.
"This wasn't the fucking plan!"
"I don't care about the plan!"
I cough; my chest feels like it's on fire. "Help."
This isn't normal. This pain tells me that something is wrong, and my inability to move my body backs that assumption up.
"She's a fucking child!"
"I'm not taking the chance she pulls through to rat on us!"
I cough more, each movement sending pain skittering through me. It reaches into my toes and then comes back up, building as it looks for a release. That comes in a scream when it gets too sharp. It feels like I'm being stabbed in the back, and the world feels instantly duller as everything fades again.
Holding myself up takes too much energy, so I let my head fall back against the ground and stare up at the sky.
It's darker than I remember it being. I don't know how much time has passed since we left the mall, how much time has passed since we got hit by another car and I lost consciousness. But I know that I was up on the bridge that I can see in the corner of my eye, exactly where the guardrail is twisted into two pieces. The headlights shine into the open air above where I know the lake is, and I pray that the headlights belong to mom's car, that she's up there somewhere getting help.
