The Box [h.s]

06

I experienced a constant buzzing in my ears.

Darkness blended with fog, limiting my vision. My breath struggled to find air, but my throat resisted. Despite trying to reach out with my hands, my body felt weak, and I couldn't do it.

Finally, I forced myself to do it, as I couldn't wait any longer to face my reality.

I blinked repeatedly, trying to regain my visual ability as the blurry images around me gradually became clear. I could see the predominant orange color in the place, flames burning intensely on the car, illuminating the entire neighborhood with their glow. I was practically in the front row to witness the flames in their various shades, and more significantly, it allowed me to see the debris it left behind.

I moved my head in all directions, aware that it wasn't a good idea when I felt throbbing pain in my head, and the discomfort in my neck increased.

I tried to get up, but only managed to turn around and find myself lying on the pavement, with the only option to crawl slightly.

I persisted in this situation for a few more seconds until I finally gathered enough strength to crawl, managing to stand up more. I cough instinctively, causing a slight wobble.

My vision begins to clear as I observe my surroundings, and that's when I finally spot a body lying on the track a few meters away from me.

I approach as fast as possible, still clinging to the ground to get closer, without achieving the desired stability. My hands grip the pavement, and my pants tear from the texture until I finally secure myself to Styles' body, who is still unconscious.

My hands press against his face, watching it slightly dirty from the dust, and his expression remains serene. He doesn't seem to have any apparent scratches.

My fingers reach his neck, pressing to check his pulse, weak but fortunately still present.

I sigh, causing me to cough more forcefully.

"Styles," I call. My hands hold his cheeks as I try to exert slight pressure on his face. "Wake up". I start gently tapping his cheek, trying to provoke some reaction, but he still doesn't show any signs.

My fingers continue to exert pressure on his neck, trying to follow the rhythm of his pulse, while sirens are heard in the distance. The heat from the flames still surrounds us, and its light illuminates us.

I persist in my efforts to make him react, becoming slightly more desperate as time passes. Why doesn't he wake up if he apparently has no visible injuries?

"Come on, wake up," my voice intensifies as I continue the gentle taps on his cheek. The skin under my fingers is warm, and his cheeks burn from the heat. Red and blue lights envelop us, and I see Jacob and Zayn descend from the van, their faces filled with concern, intensifying as they lay eyes on the unconscious Styles beside me.