The Worst Accident

2

Sleep doesn’t come easy, but when it does, it always brings the same dream. It starts the way it always does—foggy, disorienting, like I’m swimming through molasses. Then, she appears. The girl.

I can never make out her face clearly, but I know it’s her. I’ve seen her a hundred times before, always just out of reach. She’s standing in some kind of clearing, surrounded by trees, bathed in moonlight. The air is cool, but she’s warm—like a beacon in the dark.

She never speaks, just looks at me with those eyes. Dark and deep, filled with something I can’t quite place. It’s not pity, not exactly. More like understanding. Like she knows me, knows what I’ve done, and doesn’t judge me for it.

I try to move toward her, but my feet won’t cooperate. They’re stuck, heavy as lead. No matter how hard I try, I can never get any closer. She watches me struggle, her expression calm, almost serene.

The dream never lasts long. Just when I feel like I’m about to break free, to reach her, the fog closes in again. The trees fade, the moonlight dims, and she disappears, leaving me alone in the dark.

I wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding like I’ve run a marathon. The room is still dark, the clock blinking a little after three in the morning. I’m too wired to go back to sleep, so I get up, splash some water on my face, and try to shake off the lingering feeling of the dream.

It happens every couple of days now, always the same girl, always the same frustrating end. I don’t know what it means, if it means anything at all. Maybe it’s just my mind’s way of torturing me, giving me something I can’t have. Another reminder of how fucked up my life is.

By the time the sun’s up, I’m out the door, heading to the only place that makes sense when I’m this restless—the local bar. It’s a dive, but it’s got character. The kind of place where the regulars know your name, and the bartender pours your drink without asking.

I walk in, the familiar smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke greeting me like an old friend. The place is half-empty, just a few early drinkers nursing their first round. I nod to Sam behind the bar, and he slides a whiskey my way.

“Morning, Vince,” he says, not even pretending to be surprised to see me this early. “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” I reply, taking a sip. The whiskey burns just right, easing the tension in my shoulders. “Just needed to get out.”

He grunts in understanding, wiping down the bar with a rag that’s seen better days. “Don’t we all.”

I lean back, letting the familiar sounds of the bar wash over me. The low hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, the crackle of the old jukebox playing some forgotten tune. It’s comfortable, almost soothing.

That’s when I see her. Sitting at a table near the back, alone, sipping something from a short glass. My heart skips a beat, and for a second, I think I’m still dreaming. But no, she’s real. The girl from my dreams, here, in the flesh.

She’s not exactly how I imagined. Her hair’s a little darker, her features sharper, but there’s no mistaking those eyes. Dark and deep, just like in the dream. She’s staring off into space, lost in thought, unaware of my existence.

I take another sip of whiskey, trying to play it cool, but my mind’s racing. What are the odds? What does it mean that she’s here, now, in the same bar as me?

Before I can talk myself out of it, I get up and walk over to her table. I’m not sure what I’m going to say, but I figure I’ll wing it. She glances up as I approach, her expression unreadable.

“Mind if I sit?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

She hesitates for a moment, then nods. “Sure.”

I pull out a chair and sit down, suddenly feeling like a teenager on his first date. “I’m Vince,” I say, offering a hand.

She shakes it, her grip firm but not overly so. “Sage.”

“Sage, huh?” I raise an eyebrow. “Not a name you hear every day.”

“It’s a nickname,” she replies, taking another sip of her drink. “My real name’s Saego, but no one calls me that.”

“Saego,” I repeat, rolling the name around in my head. It’s unique, like her. “Nice to meet you, Sage.”

She smiles, just a little, but it’s enough to light up her whole face. I can’t help but smile back, feeling something I haven’t felt in a long time—a spark, maybe.

We sit in silence for a while, both of us nursing our drinks. I want to ask her a million questions, but I don’t want to scare her off. Instead, I try to play it cool, keeping the conversation light.

“So, what brings you to this fine establishment?” I ask, gesturing to the bar.

She shrugs. “Same as you, I guess. Just needed to get out.”

“Fair enough,” I say, taking another sip of my whiskey. “This place has a way of drawing people in.”

We talk for a while longer, about nothing in particular. She’s guarded, not giving away much, but I can tell there’s more to her than meets the eye. Something about her draws me in, makes me want to know more.

Eventually, the conversation drifts to other people in the bar. I casually ask Sam about her when I head back for another drink. He gives me a curious look, then glances over at Sage.

“That’s Saego, but everyone calls her Sage,” he says, confirming what she already told me. “She’s been coming here for a few months now. Keeps to herself mostly.”

“Know anything else about her?” I ask, trying not to sound too eager.

Sam shrugs. “Not much. She’s quiet, doesn’t talk about herself much. But she’s a good tipper, so I ain’t complaining.”

I nod, pretending to be satisfied with the answer, but my curiosity is piqued. There’s something about Sage that I can’t quite put my finger on. Something that keeps me coming back, just like the dreams.

As the evening wears on, more people trickle into the bar, and the atmosphere shifts. The noise level rises, laughter and music filling the air. Sage and I eventually part ways, but I can’t shake the feeling that our meeting was more than just a coincidence.

I head back to my apartment, the image of her lingering in my mind. Saego. Sage. The girl from my dreams, now a reality. I don’t know what it means, but I’m determined to find out.

As I climb into bed, the city quiet outside, I can’t help but wonder what tomorrow will bring. For the first time in a long time, I feel something close to hope. Maybe there’s more to life than just surviving. Maybe there’s something worth fighting for after all.