"Jay—pull over."
"What? Why?"
"Pull the fuck over! Right now!"
Jay slams on the brakes as I fling the door open, the car still rolling. I'm running before my feet hit the ground, gravel crunching beneath my boots as I race toward the wreckage. The smell hits me first—gasoline sharp enough to burn my nostrils, mixed with something metallic and sweet that turns my stomach. Then I see the flames, hungry orange tongues licking at the hood, reaching for the night sky.
"Nora!" My voice shatters like the windshield I'm staring through, my hands trembling as I yank at the door handle until my muscles scream. It doesn't budge.
Jay appears beside me, his face ghostly in the firelight. "Shit. Is that gas?"
"Help me get her out!" The words tear from my throat.
We pull at the door until our arms shake, but it's sealed shut. My fists pound against the glass, each impact a desperate prayer. Jay disappears and returns with a rock.
"Stand back!" He hesitates for a heartbeat, his eyes locked on Nora's still form. "Sorry, Nora," he whispers before bringing the rock down.
The glass splinters, then explodes inward. I tear off my suit jacket and drape it over the jagged edges. Even now, with flames licking at the hood and time slipping away, I can't bear the thought of the glass cutting into her skin. I reach through the makeshift barrier, barely registering the shards that slice into my own arms. The heat from the fire crawls over my flesh, but pain is irrelevant. Nothing matters except getting her out.
Her seatbelt is jammed, the metal around her legs twisted like modern art. I hear myself whispering, voice cracking, "Leni, it's me. I'm here. I'm gonna get you out, okay? Just stay with me. Please, stay with me." Each word is a promise I'm terrified I won't be able to keep.
Jay's already at the other side, muscles straining against the crushed metal pinning her down. "On three!" he shouts over the growing roar of flames.
We heave together, and I feel the weight shift just enough. I slip my arms under her, and for one heart-stopping moment, she's nothing but dead weight against me. But then I have her, and I'm stumbling back, cradling her. The asphalt is cold and unforgiving as I lay her down, my hands shaking as they brush her face. Blood paints abstract patterns on her skin, her hair a dark halo matted with crimson. Her dress—the one she wore when she smiled at me across the ballroom just hours ago—is now a canvas of violence.
"It's okay, Leni," I whisper, every word a desperate prayer. My throat closes around the words, but I force them out anyway. "Hold on a little longer, please.”
Jay crouches beside us, his voice urgent. "Nate, we have to go. She's not gonna make it if we don't move now."
I can't stop the tears that fall as I kiss her forehead. "I love you," I repeat, like if I say it enough times it'll be strong enough to keep her here. "Don't leave me. Please. Please, not you."
"Nate!" Jay's hand clamps down on my shoulder, reality crashing back in. "Pick her up. Let's go!"
His voice breaks through the fog of terror, and I lift her as gently as possible. As Jay peels out, tires screaming against asphalt, I hold her close in the backseat, whispering promises into her hair. I cradle her in my lap, my trembling hands pressing against wounds that won't stop bleeding. The crimson seeps between my fingers, warm and relentless. Behind my eyes, memories flash in rapid succession. Little Leni in pigtails and that worn Mickey Mouse shirt, twirling until she's dizzy. Her voice filling the house with off-key Guns N' Roses at fourteen. The way her nose still scrunches when she's angry. How her green eyes catch the light when she's creating something beautiful.
"Stay with me, Len. Please."
Jay's voice cuts through the fog, stretched tight with panic but holding steady. "We're almost there. Hold on."
I press my lips to her forehead, tasting copper and salt, my tears mixing with her blood. "It's okay Leni." The words ghost against her skin.
"I've got you. I always got you. Hold on a little longer, okay? I love you."
The hospital doors part like gates to purgatory, flooding us with harsh fluorescent light. The antiseptic smell burns my nostrils, mixing with the metallic tang of blood that's soaked through my shirt. Everything moves in slow motion and too fast at once—a herd of squeaking shoes on linoleum, metal instruments clattering, voices overlapping in urgent tones.
"Help!" The word tears from my throat. "Somebody help her!"
A nurse emerges followed by doctors. When they take Nora from my arms, the void left behind is physical, an amputation of something vital. I stumble backward, my vision tunneling to my hands—red, so red, like I've been finger-painting in nightmares.
"What happened?" The question floats somewhere above my head.
It's Jay's voice that cuts through. "Car accident—she was trapped, unconscious. We broke the window to get her out—there was fire, gas everywhere. I don't know how long she was there. It was a hit and run. She's lost a lot of blood and she's not breathing right—please, just help her!"
They disappear behind swinging doors, taking Nora with them. I'm left staring at my hands, at the abstract art of her life force drying on my skin. The room tilts like a carnival ride gone wrong.
She's not breathing right.
No, she isn't breathing at all.
