My Wrath is a Mirror | ONC 2022

Four

My eyes fly open. At first, all I see are lights flashing red and white, red and white like an alarm, but everything else is strangely quiet, completely at odds with the pounding of my heart. All I hear is my own harsh breaths as they puff up into the cold air in little clouds of smoke. I'm disoriented, hanging upside down by my seatbelt with blood rushing to my head. My door is jammed shut and I bang on it in a panic. I have to get out. I have to get out of the vehicle or I just know something bad will happen.

"Ma'am, can you hear me? Is there anyone else with you in the car?"

The voice booms from right outside my broken window and I jump. I didn't realize anyone was there, but that explains the lights bouncing off the ice on the ground.

"Just me," I choke out.

"Stay right there for me, okay? I'm going to make sure the vehicle is stable."

Stable? The word sends me into ripe terror and I scramble for my seatbelt buckle, attempting to unlatch it without falling on my head. My fingers are shaking so bad, and my chest squeezes tighter with every second I'm trapped in here.

"Kamille?"

A new voice speaks, and I recognize this one. Jerking my head, I meet the dark eyes of the EMT just as my fingers finally find the seatbelt button and I'm dumped onto the ceiling of my Range Rover.

"Easy now, don't move," he says in an achingly familiar soothing voice, but I'm not listening. I have to get out now. Crawling across the shattered sunroof, I pull myself out of the wreckage through my passenger window.

"You always were a good listener," the EMT says wryly, coming around and helping me sit. His hands skim my limbs looking for injuries, but I don't feel any pain.

Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, my elbows and knees burn. The sting comes to me slowly, as if the adrenaline is leaking out of my body. When he's finished his appraisal of my injuries, he comes up to my face, and I finally get an unobstructed view of his high cheekbones and strong chin.

Wesley Biltmore.

He shines a small pen light in my eyes. "Kamille, can you tell me what happened?"

My brain doesn't want to relive the accident, neither of them, but I can't help the words spilling from my lips.

"It's like I was back there, Wes. Hanging in my seatbelt." My vision blurs and I feel the wetness leak from the corner of my eye, sliding down to my jaw. He knows what I'm not saying. At one point, Wesley Biltmore knew everything about me.

A gentle palm caresses my cheek, and I feel the tremor in his fingers as he wipes away my tears. "You're going to be okay. I'll get you patched up, but you need to tell me what happened." His voice is tender and deep, and the proximity of him—I know I'd be in trouble if I hadn't just almost died.

"A truck blinded me with his brights, and I hit some black ice. Lost control, and I guess I blacked out for a few minutes."

"The driver of that truck is the one who called us. He hit the ice too, but was able to regain control." I snort, and meet his eyes. An electrifying jolt of awareness runs through me as I hold his gaze, but then he blinks and looks away. Wesley rummages through a med kit beside him before pressing something wet to my elbow, and I hiss at the sting. Looking down, I wince at the rivulets of blood running down my arms. The glass must have cut me when I crawled out. Wesley treats my arms and knees, and even a cut on my ankle before speaking again.

"We called a tow truck, but they might not be able to get here until the morning. There's more ice up the mountain and—"

"That's ok, it's not like I can drive home anyway." It hits me then that I don't have a ride back to Mom's, and I most definitely won't be making it to dinner with Loren. Dread settles in the pit of my stomach at the thought of calling Mom and giving her the news over the phone. I need her to see that I'm in one piece.