Prompted by: Christine Little
The crazy author says: Psst! Look who’s still kicking around, eh? 😏
I’ve worried before. Been afraid. Scared out of my wits. But I have never in all my life experienced sheer fucking terror. Not once. Not even close.
Not until last night.
When spider cracks spread across bulletproof glass in every direction. When the sound of crushed metal and pulverized bone exploded in my ears. When blood splattered across the windshield and poured onto the dashboard in wave after endless wave. When I thought I’d lost him…
Squeezing his hand tighter, I don’t look up.
Our uninvited guest enters anyway and touches my shoulder.
“Fuck off,” I mutter. I don’t know why. I don’t mean to be a bitch but God, it hurts to breathe. “I’m not leaving.”
He places something on the bed and slides it into my forearm.
A white paper bag from In-N-Out Burger. The smell makes me nauseous. I swallow the bile rising in my throat and shake my head.
“You need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You still need to eat,” he says.
The calmness in his voice grates on my nerves. I swat his greasy offering to the floor and hiss, “What happened?”
Not a damn word.
I glance at my best friend to find him slumped over in his wheelchair, elbows on his knees, face buried in his palms.
He’s not calm.
He’s completely devastated.
Which doesn’t change the fact that I’m so pissed my vision is starting to gray. My teeth grind together, the accusation barely seeping through, “What the hell happened, Tech?”
The silence drags on.
Finally, he groans, “I fucked up.”
What’s the prompt for next week, guys?
Make suggestions below. 7 words or less.