Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
At her question, my breath punches out of me. I’m not even thinking about being in the backseat of this car right now. I’m thinking about the black mass of crapshit that’s been roiling in me for so many years. “I don’t think it was, not really, but I still feel guilty. I told him right, not left, because he was going to miss the turn. The road forked, and he was going to go in the wrong direction. I told him a little too late. I couldn’t believe he was actually going to miss the turning to get home.”
“What—what happened?” She doesn’t stop hugging me.
This is so much more than I deserve. It feels like she’s fighting for me, being the strong one so that, just for once, I can let my guard down enough to get this out. There’s no eye contact, but it’s like we both need and don’t need that at the same time. I’m afraid I’ll stop if I have to look her in the eye. That the panic will take over again, and that will be that. I’m going to tell her all of it, and I hate this because it still hurts, though not in a white-hot panic sort of way and not in a fear sort of way. It hurts in the sense where, I had a life before that, a solid family unit, a mother and a father, and now all of that is different, and it hurts.
“It was dark. Late. But still. He’d taken that route so many times. It was Christmas, and we’d been at a company thing. Bradford didn’t bother going, and my other siblings went in separate vehicles. My younger sisters went with my mom, and they left before we did. They were tired, so they went home early while my dad and I had to stick it out to the end. It was cold. Like bitter winter Chicago cold. We, uh…after the car went off the road and hit the ditch, it turned over and crashed into some trees. Not old ones, thankfully. Younger ones. They stopped it from rolling, but the car crumpled around them, and it crumpled around me. It was so cold. My dad…he was…he was out cold for a little bit, and that was better. But then he came to, and when he saw me stuck like that, up in the air, he was so panicked. He had a cut on his forehead, and it was bleeding. He kept saying I was covered in blood. That he’d killed me. Until now, I still hear him saying that. ‘Oh Jesus, I’ve killed you. My son.’”
“Oh my god. Oh my god, Darius.” Tears are threatening in her voice, and I can hear them, but she doesn’t let go for a second. Her arms tighten, and she presses herself into me. It forces me deeper into the seat, but that actually quells the panic. She’s more than just my shield. She’s holding me down and keeping me from shattering and changing shape, becoming air instead of a solid, and floating right the heck out of here.
“After the accident, no one could ignore what was going on anymore. My brothers were the ones who said something to the doctors, but I feel like my mom blames me. I was out of it. I was on painkillers and having surgeries and whatnot, and when I got out, that’s when they told me. That dad had dementia. They took his driver’s license away. The board was questioning his ability to run the company, so as soon as I was ready, and by ready, I mean still so fucked up that it was a miracle I was functioning, he turned it over to me. Bradford helped a little bit, I have to say. At least he was nice to me and less of an asshole when I was recovering from those first few surgeries. He never told me it was my fault. He did tell me the things my mom said, though. But to be fair, my dad was her whole world. She loved him so damn much.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You can’t…that’s not how those things work.” She swallows thickly. “My mom…she freaked when Heather was diagnosed and kept saying she shouldn’t have done this or that or that maybe when she was a baby, she’d done something, maybe exposed herself to something when she was pregnant by accident. She was irrational, but Heather put those ideas out of her mind quickly enough. Because that’s not how the world works. The accident didn’t kill either of you. Your dad…well, he could have hurt himself so much worse. He could have been driving later and gotten in a collision with someone else, and they could have been hurt. Anything could have happened. That’s like saying it could have been worse, which doesn’t help at all, and that sounds so callous. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”