Crenny Week 2021

Accidents Happen

It's one in the morning. The streets are deserted, and the sky is clouded, so that the only light to guide Craig's car is the occasional flickering streetlamp. Homeward bound, it's been a long and exhausting night. Craig's a waiter at the Ritz, which involves avoiding eye contact with customers who earn more in a single day than he does in a year.

Craig is thinking about his last breakup. Which is stupid because he and Red split two years ago, and he's never heard from her since. He's replaying an argument they had, right towards the end of the whole mess, imagining what he might have said differently now that he's had two years to think of a good comeback.

"When people show you who they are, believe them," she said. At the time, Craig just scoffed, and deflected back on her – something to do with naivety, probably. The memory is hazy, his mistakes aren't the important part. The important part is that he looked that line up later, because it sounded vaguely familiar, and found that it was actually from Maya Angelou. If Craig had the chance to do over that argument, he would make some cutting comment about the irony of preaching trust and authenticity when you're trying to pass a quote from a civil rights activist off as your own. And, besides, she was the one who cheated on him. Had been cheating on him, for months. That seemed like pretty reasonable grounds not to trust her anymore.

He's picking over his wording, trying to get it as abrasive as possible, when this figure materialises out of nowhere, right in front of his car. Too late, Craig slams on the brakes, jerking forward against his seatbelt. There's a sickening thud as the front of the car hits this guy, and then a stomach churning bump as the car rolls over him, first the front wheels, then the back. The car screeches to a halt, and Craig is bolting from his seat before his brain even has time to process what's happening.

The man is curled up a few meters behind the trunk, a pool of blood slowly spreading from his form. Craig races towards him.

"Holy shit, man! Are you okay?" He crouches down to get a look at the guy's face, praying to god that he's alive. Craig's only twenty-two, that's too young to go to jail for murder. Or, manslaughter, whatever. Craig doesn't think he'd last very long in jail. He's not very intimidating, just kind of lanky.

There's a gash on the guy's forehead, gushing blood over one swollen eye, but the other one is open, clouded with pain, darting back and forth frantically.

"Oh, thank fuck," Craig breaths. "You're alive."

The guy locks his gaze with Craig's, malice glinting in his eyes. "Fuck you, Craig Tucker," he spits—actually spits blood at him. "You're a god damn piece of shit."

Instinctively, Craig glances down at his chest, but despite still being in uniform, he's not wearing his nametag. He hates wearing his nametag, hates how strangers will call him by his first name like they're friends. And yet here's this guy—this guy who Craig has never seen before in his life—saying his name like they're sworn enemies. Craig frowns at him. "How do you—"

"Shut the hell up and dump me in your back seat!" the man snaps. "Get me to Hell's Pass. I'm not gonna last long." He coughs, a nasty, rattling sound. "You got me good this time, you asshole."

"Right! Sorry." Craig says, resisting the urge to question the 'this time' as well. He stares down at the twisted mess before him. Craig's no expert, but he's pretty sure legs aren't supposed to bend that way. "Um, how should I—"

"Get the car door open first. Then one arm under the back, one arm in the crook of the knees."

"Right, okay, right," Craig murmurs, wrenching the door open. He's doing his best to follow his instructions, but when Craig hoists him off the ground, he's met with a cry of "Mother fucker!" Craig's so startled that he almost drops him. Arms trembling violently, he stumbles through the few feet back to his car and clumsily lays him down in the backseat, each passing second underscored by the stream of expletives this guy is letting lose.