Page 98 of Freshman

“I want to stay actually,” Alfie said, challenging Nate with his stare.

The creases of anger vanished around Nate’s eyes, and his lips parted.

“See,” Mike said. “He wants the experience. We’re teaching him how to handle a grieving prisoner on the day of a funeral.”

“We are burying my Nana Doris’s ashes,” Nate spat. “This isn’t a day trip for your inexperienced puppy. Pull up and let him out.”

Mike raised his eyebrows, then sunk back into his seat. “Not happening, Nate.”

Nate was wound up like a spring ready to explode, and Alfie had caused it. Nate had been fine before he opened the car, almost bored from his expression, but the second their eyes met, he changed into a caged beast.

Alfie watched his house whizz by, and the coffee shop Tia worked at. They were his safe places away from Nate, and they vanished in the distance like nothing. He had no barrier, no haven away from confusion. Dave drove them from the town, and the packed terrace houses made way for fields of green.

Dave took another sharp bend, but Alfie clutched the door to compensate. He wanted to limit the amount he and Nate touched.

“What the hell?” Dave muttered, slowing the car.

Orange cones were lined across the road, blocking them, and a huge blue sign pointed right for a diversion.

“I'm going to have to take it,” Mike said. “We got time.”

Dave spun the car to the right and shook his head. “What do you reckon, busted pipe?”

“More likely potholes. They’re craters on these country roads.”

Dave nodded. “Council really should sort them out.”

Alfie closed his eyes at the droning conversation, and it was in those few seconds it happened.

The car lurched violently, and Alfie snapped his eyes open. They were spinning off the road.

The wheels screeched desperately to stay on the tarmac. Dave cursed, and Mike called out. Alfie saw the tree getting closer to him. He scrunched his face, anticipating pain, and it didn’t disappoint. A sharpness shot down his right side. His shoulder throbbed; his hip sang with agony.

Alfie squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it would lessen the pain, but it only enhanced it. The piercing silence following the crash was drowned under an intense buzzing in his head. A buzzing that brought an onslaught of pain and confusion. He didn’t know where he was, who he was with. All he could think and feel was pain. Red hot and angry, like someone was holding a scorching iron to his side and not letting him move away.

The voices around him were muffled, as if underwater, and the scent of petrol seeped into the air. Alfie didn’t care for either. All he cared about was the burning iron, which was no longer just pressed to his skin but penetrating through and branding his bones. It pushed in, then lessened, then pushed in farther, not letting him recover or prepare for the next fierce flare. He couldn’t breathe, the air was too thin, and his chest tightened, squeezing his lungs. He was going to die, and there was too much pain to panic about it. Hotter than lava, it wrapped around his bones, melting them to nothing.

There was pressure on his arm. He was being tugged. He wanted to beg whoever was pulling him not to, wanted to sob and plead, but they continued yanking him.

More voices, all different, more being pushed and pulled, and set down on something. The only consistent thing was the pain. It didn’t lessen. It continued to rob him of breath and thought. Blood ran down the back of his throat. He could taste it, and he could feel it running from his nose, tacky on his lips.

“Alfie!”

Nate’s voice broke through. Panicked again, not hating.

Alfie registered movement. He was vibrating. Something growled around him, tipping him left to right. He knew Nate was near him, hovering above, and tried to draw his scent in through his nose, but it was all blood and it burned.

“Hang in there, Alfie. You’re going to be all right.”

He latched on to his voice, trusting Nate to make him better.

“We’ve got to leave him.”

Alfie didn’t recognise the woman’s voice, but he didn’t want to be left. He hurt, and the only thing he could cling to in the darkness was Nate’s voice. It was close, then far away, then close again, and so was his presence. It came in waves, and each time it left, the fire took over, and Alfie tried to beg for Nate to speak again. He didn’t know whether he spoke or if his desire to hear Nate was locked deep in his head.

“I can’t do that,” Nate argued.

“He’s messed up. He doesn’t need you.”

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