Chasing Cars

Chapter Ten

*is screaming because of delayed update*

I woke up with my head on my homework and "One Dance" playing in my ears at a medium-going-to-high volume. The sun shone through the blinds and went directly into my eyes.

"Ugh thanks," I sighed heavily before sitting up to glance at the clock on the microwave. 9:52 AM. School starts at 7:30.

"Mom! I have to go to school I'm late!" I called, looking around wildly for my mother. I heard no response. That usually meant she was still asleep, which would have been fine if I had a way to go upstairs and wake her. "I guess I'll have to literally drag myself there."

Groggy and slightly dizzy, I pushed myself out of the wheelchair and fell with a thud onto the dining room floor. My head snapped backwards and hit the ground harder than the rest of me. "Ow," I groaned, shuddering.

It was a process, but eventually I managed to pull my useless self to the stairs, where the real challenge would be managing to get up. I counted the steps. There were twenty two of them. "Okay Karev, you got this!"

I tried giving myself a little confidence, hoping it would make the ordeal go by faster. Right before reaching for the first step, the familiar thought struck me like lightning.

You can't do this. It's so simple but you. Can't. Do. It

I fell, sobs making my body shake violently. There I lay, pathetic and weak, crying on the staircase. With everything that had happened, Dad's death, Charleston's abuse, everything, I felt lost and alone. Surely nobody dealt with this many incidents in such a short span of time. 

As I lay there, my cries grew louder. My head was clouded with memories of bounding up and down the stairs with no problem, racing around, playing tag with my friends, running late. I never thought it would be over.

-------

"Dad? Where are you going?" I asked. I stood at the top of the stairs, a worried look set on my seven year old face.

I had been in my room, listening to the sounds of my parents screaming at each other, a cutting sound that left me in silent tears. Throughout the fighting, I pretended the shouts where the terrified shouts of my stuffed animals, running not from a fight, but from a disaster that only a small child's mind could create.

Then the door slammed. The shouts stopped. I opened my door to see Dad throwing clothes into a bag. His face was red and angry, his movements stiff and rushed. Mom sat in a heap in the hallway, her face buried in her hands. 

Then, Dad stormed out and raced down the steps. "Daddy!" I ran after him, tripping over my feet as I struggled to catch up. "Just go, Karev. Go play in your room," he tried to calm his voice, but it sounded like he was ready to scream at me. I was worried that if I turned my back, I'd turn once more and he would  be gone. 

"But where are you going?" I asked stubbornly. "JUST GO!" he yelled, punching the wall. Shaking with fear, I ran, but not up the stairs. Instead, I ran to the family room and looked at all the pictures of us.

Mom, Dad, and I, all walking on the beach. The three of us covered in mashed raspberries after smoothie making turned into a fruit fight. The sobs hit me then, and I clutched both pictures to my chest, hugging them tightly and trying to forget the look of rage on Dad's face when he told me to go.

I sat on the bottom of the stairs, loud cries erupting from my tiny face. 

----------

Now I was hear again. But Dad was dead, not gone for a while, only to come back with apologies. There would be no coming back, and even if there was, I had no legs to escape with this time.