Katie Taylor's Guide to Heartbreak

03: car brakes, screeching over and over and over again

Love,

I'm so lost without you. It's ridiculous. I know I need to move on, but I don't want to, so I can't. It's a mess, and the only person I can talk to about it is you.

I wish you'd talk back.

–Katie

Step (Shot) Three: Drink because you can.

Sub-step: Car brakes, screeching over and over and over again.

Example:

"Hey, you know who I saw the other day?" Jenna says absently, tapping out a staccato rhythm with her ring on the dashboard. She's giving you a lift to your building; even though her nurse's shift doesn't start until twelve, the two of you have fallen into a habit of car rides together. Jenna enjoys the scenery, she claims, then stares meaningfully at you until you blush pink and shake your head at her.

"Mm?" Applying lipstick in a moving car is an art, and you can't multitask while doing it.

"Lewis Mackey," she says delightedly. "Remember him?"

"Of course I do, idiot. He was my best friend all sophomore year. And that was a red light," you add, voice jumping a few octaves.

"It was yellow," Jenna corrects. "And I was in the box. Too bad he dropped out," she continues, switching conversation topics smoothly. "Didn't he set us up?"

"No!" you say, emphatically enough that you have to pause your hand movement. "Definitely not. No."

"I'm pretty sure you pretended you were looking for him for, like, the first ten minutes."

"It wasn't a pretense."

"Oh, sure it wasn't." She flashes a quick grin at you, and your heart jumps in your chest the way it always does when she looks at you that way. In three weeks she'll look at you that way from the far end of an aisle, and the thought makes you feel fuller than you'd ever thought possible. "But just so you know, I knew you were lying."

You roll your eyes and cap the lipstick. "That was ten years ago, for Christ's sake. Let me live it down."

She laughs, turning her head to look at you for longer this time. "Never."

You're looking back, smiling despite your exasperation, and for a moment, she stares at you like you're the whole world. Then her eyes flicker to the left, widening, and she yanks the wheel roughly to the left. The inertia throws you forward and sideways, scraping against your neck against the seatbelt and knocking your breath free of your body. There's an agonizing screech of brakes, a high pitched scream that might be yours, then an almighty crash that shakes you to your core.

And then nothing.