Page 94 of Truck You

I should head back to the garage and face my anxiety.

Ever since my accident, my fears have become crippling. Sophia’s accident only made it worse.

Fuck. Sophia. I should be with her. It should be me tending to her wound and making sure she’s okay. Not my brothers.

Sheisokay.

She has to be.

Losing Sophia is not an option. Not anymore. I’m in too deep. But my anxiety and deepest fears show their ugly heads.

But women always leave. Your mom left. Your brothers’ moms all left.

Women don’t stay.

“Shut up!” I yell at the voices in my head.

The very idea of Sophia leaving me turns my stomach into knots. I feel sick. My heart aches and my chest feels so tight it’s hard to take in air.

What the fuck is happening to me? Why am I even thinking like this? I have no reason to think Sophia is going to leave me.

Is it because I love her that much?

If this is the other side of love, I’m not sure I want it.

What was it that Grams said to me?

Love will set you free. It will heal your soul and make you whole.

Bullshit. I don’t feel free, and I certainly don’t feel whole.

I’m a fucking wreck.

Lovedoesn’tset you free. It fills you with jealousy and feeds your insecurities and fears.

Before I can sort out all the feelings swimming around in my head, the ATV slips on an ice patch. I go sliding sideways toward a large tree. I try to correct for the angle and straighten myself out, but the trail is too slick.

I’m at the top of a hill and heading directly for a large tree. If I hit it, one of two things could happen. I could come to an abrupt stop. It would trash the ATV, and my body could slam into the tree. That would hurt like hell, but it would put an abrupt end to this accident. That’s a much better outcome than option two.

Option two could cause me to spin out of control when I crash. If I spin out of control, then I will tumble down this hill, rolling the ATV over me. There are countless trees—both small and large—scattered along this hillside. If I roll, I will get clobbered.

Fuck, I didn’t grab a helmet.

I try again to straighten and alter my direction. I need an option three.

Option three is to not fucking crash. If I can just stay on the trail, I’ll be fine.

Nope. There is no option three because I can’t stop from sliding on this ice.

When I look up, all I see is the dark rough bark of the large oak. I’m slamming into it no matter what I do.

I brace myself, gripping the handlebars and ducking my head.

Please don’t let me hit my head.

I hear the loud crash and crumple of metal before I feel the jerk from the impact. Then the worst thing that could happen happens.

Option two.

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