Page 20 of Lovesick
Is this what you wanted? To make him feel terrible? He hasn’tdoneanything to you. Stop projecting onto him just because you’re so fucking miserable.
I don’t know what to say. Everything points to me being the bad guy—ghosting him, blowing up at him. I shrink into myself, wishing I could blink out of existence. “I…”
There’s a whoosh of air and the complementary rev of an engine, and without warning, my whole life flashes before my eyes. My sad, pathetic, unfulfilled life. One second, I’m screaming at Crew in the middle of the road, and the next, my bare legs are skidding against concrete, the rest of my crumpled body shielded by his strong, stocky one. A sports car—going at least eighty in a residential zone—speeds off into the night, followed by blinding headlights and hollers from the passengers.
Crew has me in a protective embrace, holding the back of my head so I don’t hit it on the ground, his other arm wrapped tightly around my frame. We rolled a good few feet out of the way, and he absorbed most of the impact. I’m teeming with so much adrenaline that my brain can’t comprehend our near-death experience yet. Even my heart rabbits against my ribs with so much force that I’m afraid they’ll break, and a familiar trickle of warmth signals that the skin on my shins must’ve split open.
It's freezing outside, but my whole body is on fire. My breath plumes out of me in sliced ribbons, pressure cropping up behind my eyes as they prepare for what I’m assuming will be a flood of relief-stricken tears. It doesn’t take long for realization to settle heavily on my chest, and when it does, I feel like I’m a second away from a total mental and physical collapse.
Fear still sunders me. “Wha?—”
“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay,” Crew breathes, refusing to loosen his crushing hold on my body. He presses me flush against his chest, and I’m shocked when I can feel his heart punting against my ribs, trying to flee through an inaccessible exit.
I cling to him like he’s my lifeline, afraid that if I let go, I’ll be nothing but flesh and bone caught in the spokes of rolling tires. My body is terrorized with uncontrollable convulsions, but Crew keeps me safely ensconced in his arms, whispering reassurances to try and placate me.
If he hadn’t acted when he did, I would’ve died. Usually, having the Grim Reaper knock on my door isn’t much of a surprise, but I always imagined I’d have control over my death. At least, in some aspect.
My vocal cords shake as my eyes grow damp. “Oh my God. I?—”
“Are you hurt?” Crew intervenes, letting me go only to assess the extent of the damage, a litany of curses spewing from him when he pinpoints the bleeding wounds on my legs.
“It doesn’t hurt,” I get out quickly, feeling this inherent urge to mollify him in the same way. Though judging by the kill-all look flaring in his eyes, my attempts at consolation are futile.
Crew remains mostly unscathed thanks to the coverage of his clothing. My limbs, however, are hatched in scratches, a few rivulets of blood, and an apple-sized bruise that I know I’m going to feel tomorrow.
“Fucking hell, Merit,” he hisses under his breath, forkinghis hand through the front of his hair in aggravation. “I need to get you cleaned up.”
Funny. He sounds just like he did that night in his apartment.
Some of the lingering panic starts to ebb, and as foolish as it is—especially in the wake of something so traumatic—the last thing I want is for him to see that long-hidden, vulnerable side of me. “It’s nothing. Really,” I insist, praying that for once he can just let something be.
I’m not broken. I’m not broken. I’m not broken.
A growl builds in the back of his throat, starting as a low rumble that devolves into something animalistically guttural. I’ve never felt fear so starkly before, and it’s not because a car almost pinwheeled over me. It’s the expression on Crew’s face—the scrunch of his nose, the bare of his teeth, the Kubrick stare that freezes what blood isn’t pouring out of me.
“It’s not. Those assholes could’ve killed you. If I’d been a second too late?—”
With the space he’s granted me, I clamber to my feet hastily, trying my best not to wince when I put pressure on my shins. Having spent most of my life in and out of hospitals, I’ve never been squeamish of blood, but right now, the tackiness coagulating on my skin is enough to make me lose my dinner. “See! All good. I’m just going to clean myself up, and my dad doesn’t have to be any wiser, okay? It’s fine. Everything is fine.”
Deflect, Merit. Scarier things have threatened your life before. Tumbling over asphalt isn’t going to leave any lasting scars.
Crew’s not convinced. Not one bit. He opens his mouth to protest, but I’m the one to cut him off this time, choosing to break into a full-fledged sprint toward my house…and finally letting the tears fall now that I’m free from his scrutiny. There’s a maelstrom in my head that scatters my thoughts just beyond reach, deafening my hearing like rolling thunder. I’m unraveling, but I have to keep it together.
Crew just saved my life. A man I’ve been nothing but cruel to. He not only risked his life for mine, but he risked his whole hockey career. If he’d been hit instead, who knows how extensive his injuries would’ve been. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why he did it.
“I’ll see you later!” I shout over my shoulder, pushing through the fiery pain that engulfs my legs as I swear to myself that I won’t look back, no matter how much I want to.
7
LIFE AFTER NEAR-DEATH
MERIT
I’m not sure why I thought that the world would stop after I almost got flattened like a pancake, but it didn’t. In fact, it’s moving faster than ever.
I can’t stop thinking about last night. I was lucky enough to sneak back to my apartment before my parents saw any of the damage. Irelyn wasn’t there when I arrived, so I was in the clear to clean up the cuts and hide them with Band-Aids. Seeing as I’ve become a makeup guru over the years with my scar coverage, camouflaging the bruises wasn’t out of my expertise. And when my parents did interrogate me over text about the spike in my heart rate courtesy of that stupid ring, I blamed it (convincingly) on faulty technology.
Even though every minuscule movement had me weeping silently in pain in my sleep, it beat having my dad freak out over the fact that I was nearly killed.
