Page 120 of The Publicity Stunt
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My eyes flutter open. My arms hurt. My legs … “April …”
My ears are ringing. Where … where is she? Smoke rolls in through a hole in the windshield and I gag at its oily stench. “April!” I’m screaming, but the sound is nothing but a sob. I try moving. Pain flares in my thigh. Fuck.
April.
I unbuckle my seat belt and get out of the car, nearly falling over, dizzy.
Limping to her door, I pull it open. There’s glass shattered all over her face. I try unbuckling her seat belt but it’s stuck. I shake her. “Wake up, Chere.”
She doesn’t.
Her head looks like its hurt. Her arms are bent in a weird position. I’m confused by how they got that way, but it doesn’t look pretty.
There’s blood everywhere.
Nononono.
April, please wake up.
The smell of fuel leaking from her car makes my stomach turn. I cover my nose in order to breathe properly and yank on her seat belt.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I finally get it off.
I pull her out. My hands are wet.
Wet and red.
I don’t know whose blood it is. Don’t let it be hers. Pleasepleaseplease.
A couple of people appear, pulling me back.
Dragging me from the truck.
April is in my arms. Her head is hurt. Wakeupwakeupwakeup.
Other voices are lost in the background.
Chere, please wake up.
Someone screams again. Where is all this blood coming from? It hurts. Something hurts. I pull her closer to my chest. My eyes fall to her hand. There’s blood on her ring. I can’t breathe. Everything hurts. “April …”
Pleasepleasepleaseplease.
A hand settles over my shoulder. I look back. I can’t make out who it is. I hear the words “hospital” and “ambulance.”
Logan.
Logan.
“My friend …” I’m not sure who I’m talking to, or if I’m even audible. “He’s still in the car …” It hurts to talk. I don’t want to leave April alone. She’s not moving. She’s not breathing. Tears well up in my eyes. I bury my face into her head.
