Under the Bridge

chapter sixty four-"you don't understand"

L I A M

HER HAIR LOOKS LIKE RAYS OF THE SUN AGAINST HER SKIN. I almost tell her this, but I am unsure if I can do it without sounding like an idiot. Instead, I just focus my energy on driving on the icy road, watching the cloudy afternoon sky drift past us, flakes of snow hitting the windowpanes. 

"Hey, just call me if you need me. I'll be here. I'll show up," I explain, stopping at a sign and looking back at her, meeting her gaze. "I love you, you know?" 

She nods. "I will, I promise," she whispers. "I love you too." 

We drive further, outside of my neighborhood and onto the main road that lead to her neck of the woods. I keep my focus on the road, knowing that they're slick, aware that she's anxious. I try to listen to the Nirvana on the radio, but I can't focus on the lyrics, or the sound. Instead, a million thoughts replace the chorus. 

I'm worried about Olivia. Every single day seems to add another weight for her to pull. I know with everything, she might snap. I want to stay with her, to be with her until she's better, but I don't want to be intrusive. 

As I move forward on a green light, I see a flash of something in my peripheral vision, coming from my right side. Time slows down. My ears begin to ring, I swerve the car out of the way, attempting to go past the reckless car on the other side. Olivia screams. I scream. I see nothing but waves of grey and black and glass. 

The two of us go into the air as the collision occurs, the seatbelts being the only thing keeping us attached to the now vertical car. My head pounds, my skin feels like fire. I'm fine. I'm awake. With a racing heart and dizzy head, I realize it's all over. 

Through sirens and static, I look over, seeing blurs of color and flashes of unease. Fine, I feel fine, just a little dizzy. Olivia, on the other hand, is nowhere to be seen. I find myself screaming her name, calling for her, only to see her, unconscious, on the seat beside me. I undo the seatbelt and move forward, setting a hand on her heart. 

Olivia. 

Her heart is thumping. It's steady. She has a pulse. I cup her face, feeling tears stream down my cheeks. This is unreal, this is a nightmare. None of this is going on. It can't be happening. 

I love you, I love you, I love you. 

"Talk to me, talk to me," I whisper, running my fingers through her hair, kissing her forehead. There's blood seeping through the clothes that she's wearing, glass from the window in her skin. I undo her seatbelt, carefully picking her up in my arms finding almost-broken door, kicking it out of place and stepping out, holding onto her tightly. 

I hear voices, sirens, ringing through the air. A set of blurry figures approach us. Police officers, paramedics. "Help her, please," I beg, finding the people with the stretcher, helping lay her down. 

"She has a pulse," one of them says in a commanding voice. "Sir, are you okay?" 

I nod. "I'm fine, I'm not hurt. Is she going to be alright?" I beg. 

"I don't know, we're going to need to take her to the hospital. You're coming too," an older man insists. "You never know if you're fine until you're checked out." 

"What's her name?" Someone else interjects, moving the stretcher. 

"Olivia Bear," I reply, feeling strain in my voice. 

"Are you family?" They ask. I know that I won't be able to see her for hours if I say no. I know that they'll lock her up in the emergency room with no family in the United States to visit.