The light is bright and hurts my eyes. Speaking of which, my whole body aches, especially my neck, which felt like it has been stretched at a 90° angle.
My head hurts and sunlight flurries into the room. I feel like I'm going through a terrible hangover, but I didn't drink any alcohol. I fight to keep my eyelids open; all I want to do is to slump back on the soft thing beneath me.
I lie back onto the blanket that envelops me, close my heavy eyelids and listen to the purr of TV from the other room. That's weird. My mum doesn't watch TV in the morning. She says it's bad for 'mental esteem and wellbeing.' Really, she just hates all the drama and lies.
Quite suddenly, the purr of TV is replaced with some shuffling about in the other room. Then, I hear the gentle click of a lock and last's nights events all come rushing back.
Isla Woodley peers at me from the door to check if I'm sleeping. She's still wearing last night's ensemble of rabbit pyjamas. Her hair is knotty and it looks like her sleep was disturbed. By me.
When she sees my eyelids flickering, she walks over and slides onto the edge of the sofa I've been sleeping on. Her sofa.
"Morning, nobody." She sips from a steaming cup in her hand. She sips so elegantly, like it's a high tea with the Queen.
I grunt in response to her greeting.
"I was kinda hoping we could carry on from the bit where you do a very sincere apology and beg me to forgive you." She shifts closer to me. "And that means getting outta bed, Monse."
With no warning, she tugs the warm fluffy blanket off me and the cold morning air hits me.
"You did not...just do that." I say sternly but with a playful edge.
"Oh, but I did." Isla arches her eyebrow and shines me a cheeky smile.
I smile back at her and quickly dive for the blanket, firmly held in her grasp. She gasps and runs across the lounge area, where I chase her. Then, she laughs at me playfully, traipsing along, the blanket still in her hands.
"Catch me if you can, Bradley." She sprints out of the room into the hallway and I chase after her, chuckling and ditching the crutches I no longer need.
"Come back here, Isla!" I yell from behind her.
But, she just turns on her heel and sticks her tongue out at me.
"Too slow, Bradley?" She looks at me, giggling and snorting.
Choking with laughter, I run up to her and grab the blanket out of her hands. She theatrically gasps as if we're three year olds playing role play. Then, I drop the now-creased blanket. Isla gives me a playful shove into the wall.
"Ow!" I smile, clutching my uninjured elbow.
She purses her lips leans down to scoop up the blanket. But when she stand back up, we're so close. Closer than we've ever been. I can taste her flowery scent and her hair brushes my shoulder. I can see only her eyes, bright and glowing in the steady sunlight. If I moved even a step closer, we'd touch eachother. I usually don't touch people without their permission. But my urge is so strong. I want to hold her warm and hand and stroke her soft cheek.
"Hey Isla!" Markus Woodley bursts through the front door, his arms piled up with grocery bags. His face is even more ragged than usual.
Isla takes a few large steps away from me. I can see what it would look like to Markus and I understand.
"Hey, bro." Isla says, immediately plucking bags from Markus' hand. "Hope you don't mind Bradley coming over." She motions to me, while I just stand against the radiator trying to contemplate the last few minutes of my existence.
"Sure." Markus says. "Good to see you again, Bradley." I give him a weak nod and silently pray someone or something will extract me from this awkward situation.
"I should go." I clench my teeth. "I feel like I should leave."
But as I'm about to run out of the door, Isla shoots me a stern look.
"Maybe later, Monse. But, you still have some apologising to do." She points her finger into my chest and I follow her into the living room.
She slumps down in the chaise couch and I try and distance myself from her. Touching is normal for most teenagers, who spent their lives kissing mouths, holding hands and making out at dark parties, but for me, touching is personal. I have to be sure before I touch someone.
But when moments of silence pass between us like whispers, I begin to think neither I or Isla wants to address the subject.
"I'm sorry." I blurt out, cutting the thick air between us. "For being such a jerkface."
"You can be a real jerk, Bradley." Isla says laughing to herself. "But in some ways, you're the nicest guy I've ever met."
My heart races at a mile a minute and the butterflies in my stomach flutter, urging me to break the silence with something equally cute.
"I like your hair." Is all my stupid brain can rack up.
Isla smiles a little and it makes my day.
Concentrate, Bradley. Apologise first.
"I was reckless. I ruined your perfect live." I shake my head. "And I'm really sorry for that. But, I can't rewind and not get drunk and not crash that car. So, the most I can be is sorry. And I can't tell you how sorry I am."
Isla looks at me, probably contemplating my fate in her hands.
"You know, Bradley." She takes a breath, reconsidering her decision. "I've done some pretty stupid things too. Obviously, not on that level." She clarifies that I am (obviously) more reckless. "But the first step is forgiveness and if nobody forgave me, I don't know where the hell I'd be today."
And Isla Woodley sums up my life, a constant cycle of mistakes and forgiveness.
"So, Bradley. I forgive you." She pushes her hair out of her face.
Then, I do the weirdest, strangest, absolutely creepiest thing ever.
I lean into her face until our eyelashes touch and I whisper:
"Wanna build a fort?" I ask with mock-enthusiasm.
Isla Woodley laughs her heart out and my day feels just a little brighter.
YOU ARE READING
After the Crash ✓
Teen Fiction"It's day 10, Isla. I wish you would wake up. I've lost everything and you're the only person who understands." Bradley Monse used to have everything. He was the star basketball player. He dated the most popular girl. He had good grades and friends...
