Spinning Out

Chapter 36

ELIJAH

"Oh Bryant, what have you done?" I ask, but I already know the answer. He crashed into Nathan's car. He spun out the two of them and is responsible for putting Jaina into the wall with her best friend. The boy I grew up with ruined so many lives in one instant. "What have you done, what have you done?"

My hand comb through my hair before hold into on tight. I'm pacing. The wreckage is right in front of me, but what hurts the most is the way it was hidden. What is killing me is knowing how much his actions effected Jaina, the sweet girl I've only just met, and a boy who should have walked at his graduation. When did this addiction take the person I know and turn him into the man I see before me, folded over and sobbing. The weight on his shoulders finally too much to stand straight.

"I know," he whispers hoarsely past the emotion in his throat. "I fucked up so bad. I'm a fucking horrible person," he says.

Part of me wants to run to him—to keep my promise to stay by his side and figure this out, but the other part wants to curse him.

"Were you drunk?" I yell. My voice commanding and unforgiving. If he did this while drinking I'll kill him myself.

"No," he says. "I swear."

"If you're fucking lying to me—"

"I'm not," he says.

"You're always drinking. I want so bad to believe you, but I don't know if I can." I tell him.

"It doesn't matter," he says, his face swollen and streaked with tears. "It's my fault either way. I did this," he tells me. "I did this!" His had pounds down onto the car. "I fucking killed them," he says. With those words he drops to his knees. "I want to be dead."

My hand clasp behind my head and I try to take in a deep breath. My chest is tight and I'm feeling like my own legs might give out. This is all too much. These problems are too big for me to solve. There are too many drivers on this road and I can't get us all home safe without people getting hurt.

Jaina.

How am I going to tell her? How am I going to help Bryant—a friend I know would die for me?

"Fuck," I say.

Bryant doesn't answer. He lays on the ground in shame.
He's just a kid. We both are.

But that isn't entirely true. All of us are adults. Bryant is an adult in the eyes of the law.

"I need to say I'm sorry," he says. "I need to tell them I'm sorry,"

I can barely hear what he is saying through his sobs.

"They're not dead," I tell him.

"You can't know that. I was going to fast," he says.

"I know," I say. Crouching down beside him I put my hand on his shoulder. "I know who you hit."

"What?" he asks. His eyes grow wide and he wipe his face with the back of his hand. "How could you possibly?"

"The girl I've been talking to," I say. "She was in the car. Her best friend was driving."

"She's not dead?" he asks. "Is she ok?"

His voice is urgent and he sits up, reaching for my arm to keep me at his level.

"You have to tell me. Please," he pleads. "Is she ok?"

"She got banged up, but she's ok." I tell him.

I barely get the words out before the next question races out of his mouth. "And her friend? Did I kill them?"

"I don't know yet," I answer honestly. "He's in a coma."

"Oh my God," he says.

"We need to tell your parents," I tell him.

"Ok," he easily agrees.

I guess I was expecting more of a fight, but I don't think he has any fight left in him. He's beaten and swollen, but I think the abuse he's been giving himself is more than either of those combined. I know I feel sick about this, but he's been carrying it for a while. It must be eating him alive.

"Tell me what to do and I'll do it," he says.

I don't know what to do. I know I need to get his parents involved, but I can't seem to think of the best way to do this. All I can think about is Bryant going to prison and how I'm going to tell jaina her friend's potential death might have been at the hands of my best friend.

"Maybe we should go to the police station," Bryant says. "I've been trying to work up the guts to go, but I can't stop drinking."

Bryant holds out his hand to me and it shakes. I watch as he makes a fist to steady it, but it is useless.

"I can't stop," he says. "I have to drink to make it go away. I can't walk into the station drunk."

"How did it get so bad?" I ask.

"I don't know. It was a problem before, but after....after I just wanted to be dead," he says.

"Let's get in the car and call your parents. You're going to need a lawyer." I tell him.

"I don't fucking care about a lawyer. I did what I did and I deserve what I get," he says. "And if that kid dies, then I deserve to die too."

"Stop it." I say. "We all make mistakes. But if you were drunk—"
"I wasn't drunk, but I had been drinking."

'They won't believe you," I tell him.

"I don't care anymore," he says.

I help him up. We leave the shed open and I get Bryant back into my car. None of this is going to end well. It feels like I'm about to drive my friend to his hanging. I pull my phone from my pocket and bring up his mother's number. I turn to Bryant and meet his eyes.

"You need more help than I can give you," I tell him. "But I can be your friend."

Bryant nods. "Call them," he says.

I press the green call button and the ringing that plays throughout my car feels the answer and his end all at once.