Page 20 of Tempest

Ardyn

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

It’s a comforting percussion in the background as I lay back on a stack of pillows in my bay window and open my favorite author’s newest release, fanning the pages with my fingers and releasing the pleasurable smell of freshly printed paper.

My nostrils twitch, then itch, at the smell permeating my room.

This isn’t the smell I’m used to. I frown at gasoline's sweet and sour scent, but continue to bask in the early morning sunlight, turning my cream pages yellow and tinging my skin in a warm golden hue. I draw my knees up…

They don’t move. I try again.

I draw my knees up.

I DRAW MY KNEES UP.

Why can’t I move my legs?

My head suddenly feels swollen, pressure building at my forehead and clogging my ears. It becomes hard to breathe.

My eyelids feel dragged down by anchors. It takes an inordinate effort to crack them open, and when I do…

I wish I hadn’t.

The world is upside down.

My fingers twitch as if reminding me they’re dangling over my head. The movement sends a shockwave to my brain, and I slam my palms to the roof of the car, pushing myself off the ceiling and—and—I don’t know.

I unclip my seat belt in a bid of misdirected logic, sending myself crashing through gravity and landing in an upside-down heap. Warm skin and strange fabric gets in my way—not mine. I’m blocked in by two people. Two friends. Two bodies.

“Mila? Clo?” I croak, lifting my head and pushing tangled hair out of my face.

A groan sounds out to my right. Clover’s eyes flutter as she hangs by her seat belt, her arms dangling limply.

I scan her, searching for any mortal wounds with my amateur eye. I can’t see anything except a small trickle of blood at her temple, collecting in her ear. There’s also a nasty gash along her arm, but it’s since clotted. Relief coats my voice when I say, “Hang on. I’m gonna check on Mila.”

I twist as much as I can in the cramped space until my cheek hits something hard. A shoe. The bottom of a heel.

Mila’s feet are in front of my face, and at first, it makes sense. We’ve been in an accident. Our car rolled. We’re all in positions we shouldn’t be.

Until…

I note that her upper body has been dragged out of the broken window. She was wearing her seat belt, wasn’t she?

Yes. Yes, she was. We all were, which is probably why we’re still alive.

Mila’s alive, right?

Panic sets my nerves on fire. Where I didn’t feel pain I now experience fire, but I pull myself to the side of her legs to get a better look at her.

Maybe she regained consciousness before me. Perhaps she tried to escape to find help, then stopped halfway because … because…

“Mila?” I whisper, my voice coming out hitched and unsure.

I shake one of her legs. Her entire body moves with it.

“Mila?” I try again, scooting up beside her.

She’s lying facedown, her hair splayed around her head in a tangled spiderweb design, her luxurious blond dampened to a murky brown.

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