Page 23 of Unwillingly His

Most of my friends’ parents had an arranged marriage.

It was the norm in our society, but not my parents.

My parents had a love story that rivaled Charlotte’s.

They had fallen madly in love and stayed that way. They never argued or fought, and if they had ever had a falling out, I didn’t know about it. Even from the inside of this family, our lives were wonderful.

I had no reason to ever doubt that mine would stay warm, loving, and perfect.

“You guys are gross,” I said, not really meaning it.

“Well, if you find that king you want so badly, you will be just as gross,” my mother teased right back.

“When I find my king, we will be much worse, but in the privacy of our own home. Bleh.”

Both my parents tipped their heads back, laughing hard.

My mother’s bright smile and green eyes were the last things I saw before the world faded to black around me while my own cries echoed in my ears.

Next, I was back in my body.

Everything was so cold, and I couldn’t move.

I opened my eyes to see my mother’s face, now broken and mangled, her green eyes lifeless and dim, staring at me as a moan or rattle emanated from her open lips.

“Mom,” I cried out and tried to move my hand towards her, but a dull, crushing pain shot through my entire body.

I choked on the scream that tore from my lips. Something was on top of me, making it impossible to move.

I got one hand free and reached out for my mother, not seeing the shard of twisted metal that was lodged in her throat until it was too late.

There was so much blood leaking from her red lips, soaking into her dress, which was a dark blue and now looked like an inky wet black.

“Mom, no, please,” I called again.

My voice was hoarse, and I was so cold.

I needed help.

I needed to find help.

Where was my father? Surely, the police had to be on their way. Someone had to be around to help me. This was New York City, millions of people crowded into one tiny island.

Someone had to be close.

With as much strength as I could muster, I pushed the plastic divider off of my upper body.

It was hard.

The second I moved it, I was much colder, but it was easier to breathe. I tried to move my legs, but they were pinned down by something heavy and cold.

Something large and black. It wasn’t a piece of the car.

It was fabric, not leather or metal. It took me a few moments to realize it was my father’s body over mine. He was so heavy, I couldn’t move him.

I cried out again. I was answered only by the howling wind blowing through the car.

“Please help.” The words came out of my mouth, barely above a whisper. I was trying to shout, but it hurt.

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