A Nice Guy

41

During the drive back from the hospital, dark clouds fester throughout the night sky, threatening a heavy storm.

I grip the steering wheel with both hands, nervously glancing back at Bonnie in her car seat. She's rear seated, I can't even see her, but my anxiety still forces me to check on her. Hazel's sleeping soundly in the passenger seat, oblivious to the harrowing weather.

I exhale a shaky breath, attempting to calm my nerves. Rain drops start to accumulate on the windshield, and I can feel the wind attempting to push and pull the car. I tighten my grip, narrowing my eyes on the road ahead.

We're minutes from the house now, rain is crashing down onto the vehicle, too fast and heavy for the windshield wipers to keep up with. I hastily switch on the high beams, only to realize they're making it impossible to see the road. I shut them off, feeling an anxious sweat forming above my brow. I clench my teeth, checking on Bonnie again through the rearview mirror.

A deafening boom of thunder triggers a memory I haven't revisited in years.

I'm six, sitting in the back seat of my parent's mini van. I never understood why we owned a van when it was always just the three of us; myself and my parents.

It was storming late at night, we'd just gone out to run errands. I also never understood why we couldn't run errands during the day.

I was sitting behind the driver's seat, behind my dad. I always sat behind him, hidden away from his eyes. My mom thought I chose that seat because he was my favorite parent. How wrong she was to think that.

The seatbelts were broken, just like nearly every other part of the vehicle. The roads were slick from the flash flood, and if I had to guess, the van was running nearly seventy down the road regardless of the hazardous conditions. I remained calm in my seat though, clueless to the peril, numb from unspoken ordeals that occurred earlier in the day, everyday.

The van inevitably hydroplaned, leaving us abandoned and stationary beyond the road, hidden by trees and various foliage. Miraculously both my mom and myself survived, however my dad didn't make it. He was killed instantly upon impact.

I remember watching his blood drip down his face while listening to my mother's screams, and finally being able to take a breath that wasn't choked by fear. I could breathe like I was fucking free.

I hold my bottom lip between my teeth, scraping it until there's blood seeping through the fresh cuts along the skin, attempting to regain control of my thoughts. I don't want to think about the fucking past anymore, I've been doing that too much lately. It's bumming me the fuck out.

We finally reach the house, and I'm nearly shaking by the time I've got the car in park. I blankly stare at the dash, not necessarily looking at anything. My ears are ringing, and my heart is pounding. I glance over at Hazel; somehow she's still sleeping, and so is Bonnie. At least, I assume she is. She's silent in her car seat, and I begin to grow paranoid that she's not sleeping at all.

I hastily open my door, exposing myself to the downfall that soaks me in mere seconds. I open her door, desperately searching her face for life. She's fine, though. Of course she is. She's perfect.

I close her door and continue to stare at her, still standing in the rain, letting it consume me. I hear Hazel's window roll down. "What are you doing?" She asks. Her voice is swallowed by the sound of the rain, I almost don't hear her, but I do.

I look over at her, feeling a heaviness in my chest that's impossible to describe. A sort of longing, or maybe a feeling of regret—relief, fear, sadness, fucking heartbreak... all jumbled up into one debilitating feeling.

She rolls her window up, preventing the rain from soaking her further. She watches me behind the glass, worry and confusion consuming her expression.

I feel tears well up in my eyes, but instead of biting my cheek or clenching my jaw to distract myself from them, I let them escape, realizing the rain will hide them effortlessly. I stare at Hazel through the window, crying; silently apologizing for what I am—for what I've done.

The crippling feeling of despair washes over me like the rain itself; cold and unforgiving. I admire my once best friend, hidden behind the streaky glass; her genuineness, her beauty...

I remember something she'd said to me months prior. "You don't treat me like I'm a person anymore," she'd said. Her words echo in my mind, repeating over and over again. I think to myself, it's true—I don't treat her like a person, not like I used to.

I take a step towards her door, reaching for the handle, thinking, I can treat her better, I can—I will. I have to. I open the door, staring down at her with nothing but remorse. Water pours into the car, misting her glasses, soaking her legs.

I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into a desperate embrace. "I'm sorry, Hazel," I murmur into her ear. The apology hangs in the air, mingling with the scent of rain. "I'm so sorry." My voice is laced with a tremor, desperate for forgiveness. I'm all too aware I will never deserve forgiveness, though.

I'm not a nice guy.