Page 1 of Crash into me

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It’s hell. It’s literal hell.

I’m trapped inside my own body.

I feel the harsh prick of needles piercing my veins; the sharp metal sinks in and doesn’t leave.

I feel the cold, medicated air of the hospital as it sweeps against my dry skin. The beeping of machines that are surely keeping me alive.

But I can’t see or move, and I have no sense of control over myself.

The worst part is,they’rehere.

And Foster isn’t.

My parents don’t come here often, hardly ever, and Foster rarely leaves but I’m assuming he stepped out, so he didn’t kill my father.

They’re signing some paperwork. A DNR, I don’t know what that means, but Mom objected to it, dear old Dad didn’t. She cried over me earlier. I think we were alone, but maybe we weren’t.

It’s confusing figuring out how I got here.

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die, and all I know is what flashed before mine when I became this.

As the bike skidded across the wet pavement, as my jeans ripped against the harsh, jagged, unforgiving road leading to our banyan tree.

Foster’s midnight eyes flashed before me, Kate’s fiery hair, Rita’s wrinkled cheeks.

Then, it was all over.

When they brought me in, I internally screeched as they scraped metal, glass, and debris from my gashed legs. I shouted, but no one stopped. I screamed, but they continued.

That’s when I realized I had no voice, no movement, no sign of life besides the beeping of the heart monitor.

Foster cursed at the nurses, the doctors, anyone who was hurting me.

He speaks for me when I can’t.

I recall the thud of my body as it slammed against the tree.

My thoughts are jumbled, like they’re on a carnival ride spinning and twirling and twirling and spinning.

But then, there’s Foster.

When no one’s around, he buries his face in the crook of my neck and cries.

I think it’s been years, sometimes hours. Just little moments smooshed together confusing the actual timeline of events.

That night, whether it was three days or three months ago—I can’t remember—I went to pick up our dresses from Rita’s but when I got there … Sophie. The monitor beeps louder as my heartbeat rises.

Foster soothes me with a gentle touch, swirling his thumb on my palm.

Sophie was sick; she needed a transplant, and I found her bear with Foster’s name. I dropped everything I was holding besides that well-loved bear and ran out into the parking lot and was hit by a car.

No, I dashed to Foster’s place to force him to race but he wasn’t there. It was raining, a storm was brewing, but I couldn’t get a hold of him, so I took his bike. I thought I knew enough about racing, but I was wrong.

Obviously.

Things are foggy, and I keep forgetting memories.

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