Page 47 of Tower
So I squirm into a new position, flattening my lower back on the floor as much as I can with my hands bound behind me, bending my knees, and inching myself closer to the driver’s seat without provoking Sick’s suspicions.
He glances over at my motion, but he evidently believes I pose no threat.
He might be right.
I wait a few more seconds to rally my courage, but I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. And every minute I stall takes me farther from base.
From home.
So I lever my legs up as high as I can get, stretching my abdominal and thigh muscles painfully so I can slam my still-bound feet against Sick.
I was hoping to reach his belly, but I get his hip and thigh instead. I shove with a lot of force though, and it was the last thing he was expecting.
He howls, and his body jolts to the side. As I hoped, he loses control of the truck. It swerves off the road, and he’s too hurt, disoriented, or surprised to get control of it again.
I pull my legs back immediately and curl into a tight ball to brace for the impact I know is coming. Sick exclaims shrilly, “You cunty little bitch!” as the truck hits the ditch at far too fast a speed.
There’s a dramatic lurch. Then a horrifying impact. I knock my head hard against the upward curve of the floor. So hard I’m dizzy.
The world starts fading into darkness, and my last thought is that all my effort will be in vain if I can’t wake up enough to get the hell out of this truck.
The next thing I’m aware of is a familiar voice. Low and gruff and anguished.
Anguished.
“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart, wake the fuck up right now. Don’t you dare do this to me. You gotta wake up. You gotta be all right.”
There are hands on me then. Strong ones. As familiar as the voice. They’re carefully drawing me out of my curled position on the floor of the passenger side.
It hurts. Everything hurts. I try to groan and only succeed in making a weird squeak.
“That’s right,” the voice says, pulling me all the way out of the truck and stretching me out on a hard surface. Except my head. My head is on something softer. “That’s my good girl. You’re not dead. You’re not gonna die from this. You’re not gonna let this fuckin’ world win. You’re not gonna destroy me that way.”
He’s so upset and so beloved and so closely matching my own earlier reflections that I try to say something. Try to speak. All that comes out is another throaty sound. I squirm because my body hurts so much.
“It’s all right. You’re gonna be all right. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I never should’ve left you that way. All I wanted was to be a good man for you, and I acted like a shitty one instead. I’m so fuckin’ sorry. But you don’t get to die. I’m not gonna let it happen. I’m not livin’ in this goddamn world without you.”
He sounds so broken I can’t let it continue. I fight to get my eyes open just a slit. “Levi.”
“That’s right. It’s me.” His hands are moving over me. Not exactly caressing. More like searching for injuries. He finds one on the side of my head.
I suck in a gasp at the pain.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. You got hit pretty bad right there. I can’t tell if you have any other injuries yet. I need you to wake up more so you can tell me.”
“You’re… you’re…” I’m forcing my eyelids open more with each repetition of the word. “You’re not shitty.”
He chokes on what sounds like a half laugh and half sob. His features twist dramatically as he tries to control his emotions. “I was kinda shitty to you this mornin’, and I’m so sorry for it.”
“I’m sorry too.” My mind is working better now. So is my vision. “I think I’m okay. Can you help me sit up?”
He eases me up to a seated position on what I discover is the pavement of the old road. The truck is still in the ditch. I move my body inch by inch, testing every part to make sure there are no more obvious injuries. “I think I’m okay. Bruised with some pulled muscles, but the bump on the head is the worst.”
He’s sitting on the road beside me in an awkward position, but it doesn’t stop him from pulling me into a tight hug with another helpless, anguished exclamation.
He’s shaking as he holds me. I’d probably be shaking too if I weren’t so dazed.
After a minute, certain realities force me to draw away. I peer into the open door of the pickup. “Sick?”
