3 AM [luke hemmings]

2

Even at this hour, I have never driven so fast in my entire driving experience lifetime. I just needed Jaime to be okay, and I promised five minutes.

I got there in less than three. I could only think of her hurting so badly and crying on the phone to me. I spotted her red Camry as I pulled up in his driveway. The lights in the house were off, signaling the bastard was asleep. The lights in her car, however, were on. I could make out her figure in the vehicle through the heavy early morning fog.

I tapped on her door, making her jump as she slowly but surely, rolled down the window. Her make up was ruined, and her hair was messed up from how she always wore her light red hair. "Luke," she breathed out my name. A smile came to my face at the moment, but quickly faded when I saw her condition. Her arm was matted in a stream of blood, and her shirt was stained from the neck to the waist by a dark liquid.

"Oh my God," the words leaped out of my mouth quickly. "We've got to get you to the Hospital," I tell her, reaching over her to undo her seat belt.

She shook her head, "I'm alright, it was merely an accident." She could try to lie to me all day, but I knew the best of her. I've been in her life for over fifteen years, and I could say I knew her probably better than anyone.

"Jaime, come with me," I instruct, leading her out of her car. She wobbled in her heels for a moment, before beginning to fall. I caught her carefully, avoiding the arm in which she was hurt. I bent down, wrapping my free hand to the back of her knees, as I hoisted her up into a bridal-style carrying position towards my own car.

"Luke, I'm fine!" Tears began to stream from her eyes once more, making me angry at Jason even more.

Once I got her inside my car, all buckled up, I turned off my radio. The noise was now replaced by the ever-so-often sniffles from my best friend. "Jaime, please tell me what happened," I ask of her, while I pulled out of his driveway. It took everything in me not to go into that house.

"He threw a wine bottle at me and it cut my arm," she admitted. "He did it because I told him I might be pregnant," her voice broke. I breathed in sharply, clutching one of my fists tightly. The other hand rested on top of the steering wheel.

"That bastard," I breathed out, looking back to Jaime for a moment. "What else happened?"

She fearfully shook her head back and forth. Of course something else happened. "Nothing," she croaked out.

"Tell me, please," I begged, trying to get the rest of the story out of her.

"I just can't believe he did this. He pulled out the wine, like he always did, and when I refused to dine, he got agitated at me. And so I told him my possibility," she hiccuped, carrying on as I sped even faster. "I've never been looked at so hated before," Jaime whispered.

I bit my lip, holding in my comments. "You're not hated, so don't think like that, just because of his looks. He's such an asshole."

"Are we almost there? This hurts," she admits, holding up her arm a little, with the support of her other hand.