Like Gold

04.

04.

HEAVY. My legs feel heavy. I twist my body, my ears ringing. All I can hear is that damned ringing, ringing, ringing and – and screaming.

I strain forward, my neck and head throbbing as I force myself up. My legs.

Where are they?

Hidden. Crushed.

I tug at them, but they won't move. I realise with a start that I can't feel them. I can't feel my legs. Yet at the same time, I feel the metal on them. I feel the steel dig into my calves, press down on my shins, trap my ankle. I don't feel the pain in them. Not really, but I know it's there.

Mostly, I feel the weight. I feel my heart pounding in my chest. I feel afraid.

I tug again, screaming in pain when my ankle tears painfully, trapped under the metal.

"JASMINE!"

Amber.

Amber is here.

I turn to see her. She doesn't look good.

No.

No.

Amber. No.

Not Amber.

I try to reach out for her, but my whole-body hurts. I'm tired. I'm so fucking tired. This isn't happening. This can't be happening to us.

This was the kind of thing that happened in movies and on the news. The kind of thing when you saw roses left on the sidewalk, tied to the pole, and brushed it off like it was nothing. This wasn't the kind of thing that happened to us.

Except now that I see Amber, lying in the wreckage, those roses become real. Those roses become mine.

Her face – her eyes. Her hair. It's not black anymore – it's matted with blood. It's darker than black. Her forehead is smeared with blood and it won't stop. It won't stop pouring from that gash in her skin.

I vaguely think to myself, that's going to leave a scar. But I know it won't. Not really. Because she won't make it out.

"Jasmine," she cries again. I try to take her hand, but my arm refuses to move and I scream in frustration, tears mixing with blood.

I hear sirens in the distant. Screams. Shouts. But all I can think is Amber.

"Jasmine. Am I dying?"

I open my mouth to reply.

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

I lay in bed, my face buried into my pillow. Light slanted across my room, streaming through the cracks in my blinds, but I didn't want to get up.

I didn't want to do anything.

I felt tired. Impossibly tired. My entire body ached with exhaustion. I was vaguely aware that I'd had a nightmare. I always had nightmares. Each time my eyes shut, I was trapped beneath bent metal again, and I woke to my mouth tasting of blood and my cheeks wet with tears.

My heart pounded in my ears, blood rushing wildly through my head, sending me dizzy. My stomach stirred and I wondered if I'd vomit today.

That was always a fun way to start my mornings.

I swiped at my eyes, harshly wiping the remnant tears away before burying my face back into my pillow.

I wasn't sad. Not exactly. That was the thing about depression. Sometimes you weren't sad, you were just empty.