One Direction Fanfiction (On Hold)

The One That Got Away (part 2)

"I'm coming," the hoarse voice I vaguely recognize as my own proclaims.

My thumb passes over the "end call" button and the phone drops from my numb fingers. I ignore it; it doesn't matter. What does matter is I get my bum over there as fast as I possibly can.

I dart to the keys. My clothes, hair, appearance, sanity, our fight earlier--none of it matters. All that matters is that my body occupies a space three miles away right now.

"I'm coming."

My own voice replays in my mind like a never ending record, tormenting me for every move that delays even half a second.

I have to be there.

My body slams into the driver's seat and shoves the keys into the ignition. My foot is on the gas while my hand is still trying to shut the door.

For him.

Everything is flashing by me so fast it's like I'm having a dream on a subway. No, a nightmare, dangling from a rollercoaster.

I pull my seatbelt hectically and sloppily across my chest as the road zooms by from underneath me, gaining space.

It feels as if my life is the road right now, and this situation is the car. The events are travelling at a speed so fast, and time is passing whether I am ready for it or not. Whether there is an uneven or unresolved issue in the road or my life, circumstances force their way past that point, ready or not.

Finally.

I don't have time time to process where I am or what I'm doing as the car arrives and I slam into an unattractive patch of mucky grass off by where the incident happened. The seatbelt is thrown off, the door is thrown open, and my body is thrown sprinting towards where I need to be.

My chest hurts. My breathing is more like rigid suffocation. My legs are burning limbs I still manage to utilize. However, none of it compares to the sensation my heart takes on at the sight.

They're all there.

Paramedics? Check. Police? Present. Local news people? There. The area is just a cluster of uniforms and badges at this point. Oh, and the dilapidated car.

I don't want to look at the car; I'm not ready for it. In fact, I don't want to look at anything for the same reason. However, my eyes gravitate as they do, and I fail to possess the ability to un-reveal the sight.

It's like any other car crash scene you see on the news or read about in a paper: the car stands completely lifeless on the side of road while the police cars, ambulance, and other important vehicles trail up behind it. The police are asking the witnesses questions. The paramedics are bringing a stretcher out while some are some are attempting to extract the deteriorating patient from the vehicle.

My heart disassembles itself as I hurl myself at the scene, the paramedics, the person--my person.

Louis.

That's the difference about this one. I can't change the channel or turn the page or look away because that simple name is what changes this layout entirely.

Louis.

Five letters, two syllables, all the difference. That difference shatters my life.

People attempt to hold me back now as I push towards him. I don't stop. I can't stop even if I wanted to.

To them, he's another crash victim. To them, he's another name smeared in black ink across a paper on a clip board. To them, he's another broken bloody body laid out across a stretcher they are supposed to reconstruct... But he's different to me.