“Sara.” His hand painfully squeezed.
Her eyes flew open to see a red truck in their lane, heading directly for them. Sara tensed, watching it like it was on a movie screen and not really before her. It swerved back and forth, making it impossible for her to guess its destination. She couldn’t think. What do I do? What do I do? It was getting closer and closer. Sara wrenched the steering wheel, fear and panic overtaking logic.
“Sara, look out! Sara!”
The car spun, its side colliding with the much larger truck once, twice; horrible crunching, shattering sounds drilling through the car, through her ears. He doesn’t have a seatbelt on, she dimly thought. Why doesn’t he have his seatbelt on? His hand was torn away from her on impact, his body slamming against her, then the side of the car the truck hit, only a layer of metal between him and the other vehicle.
Sara’s heart died as she watched his body thrown forward, then backward, and then he didn’t move at all. The airbag went off, crashing his already ruined body. Sara screamed, reaching for him. Blood trickled from his head and he still wasn’t moving, his eyes halfway open, staring, but not seeing anything.
She tried to unbuckle her seatbelt, but her fingers were shaking and slick, and the pain; the pain was everywhere. Not for her, but for him. Dying. She was dying. If he was dying, Sara was dying. She couldn’t get to him. There was this terrible pressure on her chest, so heavy with foreboding, so thick with finality. It was killing her.
Sara screamed in helpless impotence. “Cole! Cole!” she shrieked, her voice high and unnatural. Over and over she called his name, willing him to respond.
He didn’t move. Why didn’t he move? Tears burned her eyes and cheeks, blurring her vision. Sirens blared in the distance, getting louder. Still he didn’t move. Still his eyes remained in that partial place of not really closed and not really opened.
“Don’t you die on me, Cole, don’t you die on me,” she pleaded, straining against her seatbelt to touch the fingers of his hand. Hers grazed his, just barely, choking sobs leaving her lips. A crack in her heart formed, grew, became her, as she stared at her broken husband Sara knew couldn’t be repaired. She died on the inside, dimmed, as she watched him, waiting for the impossible.
Sara’s eyes slowly opened. His eyes never opened. She’d waited and waited and they’d never opened. Months, a year, over a year she’d waited for him to open his eyes and come back to her. He’d given himself that time limit to come back to her as well and he hadn’t done it. He isn’t coming back.
Tears formed, slowly sliding down her cheeks. She became aware of another presence beneath her, around her, cocooning her as though to protect her from the world, maybe from herself even. For one bittersweet instant Sara thought it was him and that the past year had all been a horrible, unimaginable dream, but then the piercing pain came back and she couldn’t pretend. A heartbeat steadily pounded by her ear, an arm locked her against a warm, hard chest.
She stiffened, but didn’t immediately pull away. “What happened?”
“You passed out.”
“Where are your parents?”
“They left. They’re going to say goodbye to him now and go back to Florida. I don’t know if they’ll be back. They can’t…they can’t accept it, Sara. It’s not your fault and it has nothing to do with you. I hope you realize that. I’m sorry my dad was being such a dick. It’s just…it’s really hard for them. But that’s not an excuse for his behavior. There is none.”
Sara pulled away, sitting up on the couch. Her head was pounding and she went still until the dizziness faded. She angled her body away from him and Lincoln’s hand dropped away as he straightened. “Why were you holding me?”
He sighed and when Sara glanced at him, it was to see his elbows on his knees and his hands holding his head. Lincoln rubbed his hair and dropped his hands, looking at her. He looked beaten, ravaged. “I don’t know. Because you just…you looked like you needed to be held, Sara. That’s all.”
She jumped to her feet, angry and confused and so disgustingly sad. Sara was sick of feeling the way she did. She was sick of having no control over her life, her emotions, anything. Sara was sick of being weak. She was sick of the lies. Her body shook with the need to release all she kept hidden, locked away in a dark place.
Lincoln’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “What is it, Sara?”
She looked at him, sitting on the couch, the one person who was always there for her, whether she wanted him to be or not. Sara didn’t deserve his unflinching support. She didn’t want it. Her lips pressed together, the words forcing their way out. If she said them, it would be over. Sara would be lost. Lincoln would be done. But the relief…it would set her free.
“I closed my eyes.”