Page 3 of Antidote

“Mom!” I scream this time and hear it echo.

My head suddenly throbs, and I lift a hand up to it and come back with sticky, dark red blood. It’s a dull ache, though, and I imagine it would hurt way more if I didn’t take so many painkillers.

Trying to unbuckle my seatbelt, I realize I’m stuck. I’m fucking stuck and can’t do shit about it. My phone is in my back pocket, and I struggle to pull it out, but I finally manage to. After I dial 911, I hold my breath.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“My mom and I crashed,” I slur. “Please help me.”

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know!” I cry out, tears streaming down my face. “I’m fucking stuck, and I think she’s dead. Please, please, hurry.”

My hand trembles as I hang up, and I can barely hang onto the phone. No matter how much I try, I can’t shake the fog in my brain. My breaths and my heart are too slow. And there’s not even an adrenaline rush kicking in. Fuck, I shouldn’t have taken so many pills.

I’m so fucked up.

Self-loathing fills my veins, and I sob. If my mom is dead…because of me…I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. There’s no choice but to join her. Take the easy way out since I’m not strong enough for the alternative. Living in a world without her is unfathomable.

My eyes close of their own accord yet again, and the next thing I know, I’m being pulled out of the car by a firefighter. I manage to open my eyelids through the heaviness, and he grimaces, carrying me to a stretcher. A warm liquid trails down my face, and I wipe it, then realize it’s blood. More and more blood.

“My mom?” I ask, looking around frantically, the high fading quickly. Adrenaline rushes through my body, overpowering the high, and I’m suddenly desperate. My hands tremble as I look for her. Where is she? Where the fuck is she? “Mom!” I scream loudly until my voice breaks. “Mom!”

The firefighter puts me on the stretcher, and I sit straight up, looking around. But I don’t see her. I don’t fucking see her. They must have already taken her. She has to be on her way to the hospital.

But he shakes his head, his lips thinning. “I’m sorry, kid.”

Sorry?

“For what?” I ask, “I’ll see her at the hospital, right?”

Silence.

“Right?”

“She didn’t make it.” He murmurs, squeezing my arm lightly. “I’m sorry.”

My heart drops all the way down to my ass, and it feels like my chest squeezes until I can’t take in a deep breath. My hands tremble uncontrollably, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

She didn’t make it.

There’s no fucking way I lost her. No way that I’ll never hear her laugh again, or see her green eyes crinkle with happiness. No way we won’t do Christmas movies and decorate cookies. No fucking way, she won’t be at my college graduation. And it’s all my fault.

She’s dead because of me.

But she can’t be dead, right? Because if she is, that means I’ve lost so much more than I’ll ever be able to comprehend. That means the last thread keeping Hunter and I together has officially been cut.

“No.” I shake my head. “No, no, no. It’s my fault. It’s my fucking fault.”

The man doesn’t say anything, and instead wheels me to the ambulance.

The trip to the hospital is a blur, and I mostly stare up at the white ceiling as we move through the roads at high speed, yet everything is in slow motion. I don’t understand why the sirens are on, I’m fine. But that doesn’t seem to matter to them. Something about a head injury.

I guess that explains the blood.

I seem to have closed my eyes yet again, seeing as the next time I open them I’m in a hospital room—with Hunter sitting at the foot of the bed. Fuck—I must be more injured than I thought, because now my head is pounding to the beat of my heart.

But the way Hunt is looking at me—with so much hatred in his eyes—is enough to sober me up the rest of the way. More than the sight of my dead stepmother. The only mother figure I’ve ever had. Because I’m just like my real mom. A fucking junkie.

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