Page 84 of Light in the Dark
I'm so mixed up I don't know what to do, how to feel, what to think, where to go.
I wonder how long you can endure a panic attack before it becomes a medical problem? I can't breathe properly; it feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest. My hands are shaking and I'm crying so hard it's almost like a seizure.
Yet, my brain is going a million miles an hour.
Hating Felix.
Loving him.
Wanting to find him and slap him and curse him out for fucking with my heart like that.
Wanting to let him explain, hoping there's an explanation that lets us be together.
I have flashbacks of that magical moment I shared with him. Kissing him. Touching. The pleasure was almost secondary to the emotional intimacy—as if it was more than mere foreplay.
He touched me and kissed me like…god, I don't even know. Like I was…precious. But not fragile. He didn't treat me like a porcelain doll. But he was still respectful, considerate.
And my god, how hard he made me come…multiple times.
FUCK!
Why did he have to go and fuck his ex? We could have had something real.
Tears flow faster as hurt and anger boil over and turn acidic in my gut—nausea bubbles in my belly, threatening to spew my chaotic emotions past my clenched teeth.
Maybe he didn't fuck her. Maybe it was a misunderstanding. I want so desperately to believe that.
I wish Faye were here. She'd have something saucy, sassy, sarcastic, and insightful to say.
God, I miss that woman already.
My phone jangles again, and I'm more tempted than ever to either pick it up and talk to him or pick it up and throw into the fucking lake.
The temptation is too powerful—I let my gaze steal down to the passenger seat, to my purse, to the blue-white-glowing rectangle inside.
No.
I rip my gaze back up the road, but it's too late. A fat raccoon crouches in the middle of the road, eyes glowing in my headlights.
I know better, but instinct takes over. My foot smashes the brake pedal and the back end fishtails, tires squealing, and I feel them stutter and skip on the blacktop. I wrench foolishly, stupidly, recklessly at the wheel to get the nose under control, but the SUV bobbles, swerves too far the other direction.
Time becomes elastic, stretching like taffy.
I feel gravity twisting and grabbing at me as the vehicle hurtles airborne, and then my purse is above my head and everything is tumbling out of it—phone, wallet, lip gloss, wrapped tampons, pens, hand sanitizer, the box of condoms I bought on the way to Michigan, a transparent yellow plastic lighter, a pre-rolled joint in a glass tube…
The stretch of time lasts for a singular eternity as the SUV rotates midair; the tires smack blacktop with a sickening crunching squeal, and time snaps back and speeds up, everything happening all at once, too fast. I'm rolling, and glass is shattering and metal is screaming and agony is crashing through me and I'm seeing stars and feeling lances of pain in a delocalized rain of razors.
The rolling lasts for an hour.
Stopping abruptly, the SUV teeters on two tires and then topples to its side, driver’s side facing the sky. I'm suspended in the air sideways. Hot blood trickles into my eyes, tangs in my mouth. Smoke swirls. Silence, but for the faint creak of a still-spinning wheel.
My eyes scan, search—find a glowing blue-white rectangle below my face, just out of reach.
I stretch, gritting my teeth around a scream. Tap the screen—it tries to recognize my face but I'm out of range or it's too dark. The keypad pops up, prompting me to input my code. Dizzy, woozy, agony radiating from a dozen places, darkness enveloping me, I struggle to remember my passcode and then struggle to input it correctly. I succeed after a failed attempt. The home screen appears, and I tap the green messages squircle with its red icon telling me I have twenty-one unread messages.
Blood trickles down my arm, over my wrist, onto my finger, smearing the screen with dark red streaks. Tap the bar at the bottom, bringing up the keyboard.
I'm faint, fading. It's hard to think.
