Your Voice Is My Alarm Clock (A Jon Cozart And Thomas Sanders Fanfic)

Chapter Forty-Four

Jon Cozart's POV

"God fucking dammit!"

"Jon, I know you're frustrated, but it'll be okay. We'll find him," he assures, "I know we will."

"But what if...what if we're too late?"

"We won't, we'll find him. I'm pretty sure I saw him go this way."

I pull over to the shoulder, because the tears blind me, right along with the anger. I wipe my eyes and try to recover, but I'm panicking now. If I can't find him, what will I do? How am I going to move on, knowing I let him go?

"Jon, what's that noise?"

I sniffle, and calm myself as much as possible, "What?"

"That noise....Oh God is that...?"

Now I hear it. The screeching and wailing scream of sirens, slowly getting closer. I turn to Troye.

"We weren't speedng, were we?"

"No..." he trails off. Slowly and gradually, the noise grows. Louder and louder. Then we see the light. It doesn't take long for three police cars to zoom past up. A fourth stops by us and rolls down his window.

"You kids better get outta here," he says.

"What's going on?" Troye asks.

The man frowns, "Theres been a car accident just down the road."

My jaw drops and I connect the dots. I am jam the car into drive and speed down the road after the police cars.

"Jon! What the hell are you doing?" Troye yells.

"It's fucking Thomas," I breathe, "It's Thomas, I know it's Thomas."

Troye pales, "You don't know that. Slow down!"

"You don't know it isn't!" I shout back. I see the flashing lights and quickly park. I burst out of the car and sprint to look at the vehicle.

A truck is surrounded by people, and one man sees us. He starts toward us, but I ignore him. Spinning around back to Troye, I find him still standing next to the car. Tears stream down his own face and he covers his mouth.

"Do you know this truck?" I ask him. He doesn't reply as he stares straight ahead.

"Troye answer me," I grab the collar of his shirt and pull him down to face me, "Troye is that your fucking truck?"

"No," he whispers, "it's Tyde's."

His shirt falls from my grasp. I back away slowly, then turn and run. I push my way through people. Cops try to grab me, but I slip away. I have to know. I put a hand to the window, the cracked and broken window, and wipe away the condensation.

It's so much worse then I could have ever imagined. Th ruby red of blood dripping down from a cut on his forehead. The seatbelt cuts into his neck as a bruise blossoms. His head hangs limply, his bangs falling over his face, masking his eyes from me.

A man grabs my arm and pulls me away. Another one goes to reinforce me, but gets shoved away. I feel like I'm losing my mind, that I'm just watching a movie played right in front of me. Because this can't be real...right?

"Kid, what are you doing?" the officer grunts.

"Tell me he's okay."

"What?"

"I just need to know he's okay."

"I can't tell you anything for sure."

"Goddamn it!" I yell, "I just want to know..." my breath catches.

"I'm sorry Jon," I don't remember telling him my name, " I really am. But we're doing the best we can with what we have right now."

I don't say anything. Not that I could, I'm too shaken.

"Jon I just need one thing from you right now."

"What?" I falter.

"I need to know you're going to be okay."

Of anything he could have asked right now, this was not the one I was expecting. And honestly, I can't answer it, not truthfully. You can't answer questions you don't know the answer to. But, there is one thing I do know for sure. And that's that I'll be okay if Thomas is. And, from what I know, he's not. He is far, far from being okay.

I finally break free from my thoughts to register where I am. I am in the middle of nowhere, standing next to wreck. A wreck involvng Thomas, my Thomas. I also realize something else. That in the worst of times, I ran to the one I love.

I hear the man ask me again. He says my name again and again. It's distant though, it all is. Nothing seems real anymore. It feels like somehinf inside me broke. The fisr blow was Thomas leaving me. The second, his screams. Third and final is the fact that I can't and won't ever have him. Hold him. Save him. Love him.

I turn and leave the man. As if in a trance, I walk. Part of me is clinging to hope. Wiching and praying that he's still alive. But the other one is stronger and negative.

Because I know.

I stalk up to Troye. Disgust hits me as I see him. I grab his shirt once more and slam him against my car.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I scream, "You knew. You fucking knew!"

I punch him in the stomach and he falls to the ground. The cop pulls me away, and I watch Troye pull his knees to chin.

"Take a seat in there," he motions to his car. He locks the door after I get in. He rushes back to the scene to assist the new ambulance that just arrived. They work on the truck trying to get Thomas out. IT takes forever, and as soon as they pull him out, I scream. I shout and yell and scream, pounding my fists against the seat. I scream his name, calling out for him until my head feels heavy. I beg for him to come back until my voice leaves me. I say his name one last time, let out a raspy breath, and fall back against the seat. Colors swirl, then fade.