me something I don’t deserve—motherfucking trust. Begging me to let her in, to let her help heal the parts of me forever damaged from a past I’ll never outrun—never escape—even when slamming head first into the fucking wall.
I see my car rise above the smoke—above the goddamn fray of broken trust and useless hope—and I lose my fucking breath and my chest feels like it’s exploding, detonating like the shrapnel of memories embedding themselves so deep in my mind I can’t quite place where they land. Even though I’m watching it, I can still feel it—the force of the spin, the strain on my muscles, the need to hold tight to the wheel. My future and past coming down all around me like a goddamn tornado as I roll out of control struggling to fight the fear and the fucking pain I know is coming next.
That I can’t ever escape.
Debris scatters … on the track and in my head.
Collateral damage for another poor fucking soul to deal with. I’ve had more than my share of it. I choke on the bile that threatens—the soul siphoning fear that stabs into my psyche—because even mid-flight, when I should be free from everything, she’s still there. He’s still there . Always a constant reminder.
Colty, when you don’t listen, you get hurt. Now go be a good boy and wait for him. When you’re naughty, naughty things happen, baby boy.
The crunch of metal, his masculine grunt.
The smell of destruction, his alcoholic stench.
My body banging into the protective cage around me, his meaty fingers trying to take me, own me, claim me.
Tell me you love me. Say it!
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
I welcome the impact of the fucking car because it knocks those words off my tongue. I can see it, feel it, hear it all at the same time as if I’m everywhere and nowhere all at fucking once. In the car and outside of it. The resonating, unmistakable crunch of metal as I become weightless, momentarily free from the pain. Knowing that once I’ve spoken those three words only hurt can come.
The fucking poison will eat at me piece by piece until I’m the nothing I already know I am.
The goddamn fear will paralyze me—fucking consume me—dynamite exploding in a vacuum chamber.
My body slams forward but my shoulder harnesses strangle me motionless, like Rylee urging me to move forward. Like the fucking memory of him holding me back—unforgiving arms trapping me as I fight against the blackness he fills me with. Against the words he forces me to say, forever fucking up their goddamn meaning.
The impact hits me full force—car against barrier, fucking heart against chest, hope against demons—but all I see is Rylee stepping over the wall. All I can see is him coming at me while she’s walking away.
“ Rylee? ” I call out to her. Help me. Save me. Redeem me. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t respond. All my hope is fucking lost.
… I’m broken …
I watch the car—feel its movement encompassing me—slowly come to a stop, the damage unknown as the darkness consumes me.
… and so very bent …
My final exhale of resistance—from him, for her—as the fight leaves me.
Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.
“We’re losing him. He’s crashing!
… I wonder if there’s pain when you die …
“Colton, come back. Fight goddammit!”
Minutes turn into hours.
Hours turn into days.
Time slips away when we’ve lost too much of it as it is.
I refuse to leave Colton’s bedside. Too many people have left him in his life, and I refuse to do it when it matters the most. So I ramble to him incessantly. I speak about nothing and everything, but it doesn’t help. He never reacts, never moves … and it kills me.
Visitors drift in and out of his room in sporadic bouts: his parents, Quinlan, and Becks. Updates are given in the waiting room where some of the crew and Tawny still gather daily. And I have no doubt that Becks is making sure Tawny keeps her distance from me and my more than fragile
I see my car rise above the smoke—above the goddamn fray of broken trust and useless hope—and I lose my fucking breath and my chest feels like it’s exploding, detonating like the shrapnel of memories embedding themselves so deep in my mind I can’t quite place where they land. Even though I’m watching it, I can still feel it—the force of the spin, the strain on my muscles, the need to hold tight to the wheel. My future and past coming down all around me like a goddamn tornado as I roll out of control struggling to fight the fear and the fucking pain I know is coming next.
That I can’t ever escape.
Debris scatters … on the track and in my head.
Collateral damage for another poor fucking soul to deal with. I’ve had more than my share of it. I choke on the bile that threatens—the soul siphoning fear that stabs into my psyche—because even mid-flight, when I should be free from everything, she’s still there. He’s still there . Always a constant reminder.
Colty, when you don’t listen, you get hurt. Now go be a good boy and wait for him. When you’re naughty, naughty things happen, baby boy.
The crunch of metal, his masculine grunt.
The smell of destruction, his alcoholic stench.
My body banging into the protective cage around me, his meaty fingers trying to take me, own me, claim me.
Tell me you love me. Say it!
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
I welcome the impact of the fucking car because it knocks those words off my tongue. I can see it, feel it, hear it all at the same time as if I’m everywhere and nowhere all at fucking once. In the car and outside of it. The resonating, unmistakable crunch of metal as I become weightless, momentarily free from the pain. Knowing that once I’ve spoken those three words only hurt can come.
The fucking poison will eat at me piece by piece until I’m the nothing I already know I am.
The goddamn fear will paralyze me—fucking consume me—dynamite exploding in a vacuum chamber.
My body slams forward but my shoulder harnesses strangle me motionless, like Rylee urging me to move forward. Like the fucking memory of him holding me back—unforgiving arms trapping me as I fight against the blackness he fills me with. Against the words he forces me to say, forever fucking up their goddamn meaning.
The impact hits me full force—car against barrier, fucking heart against chest, hope against demons—but all I see is Rylee stepping over the wall. All I can see is him coming at me while she’s walking away.
“ Rylee? ” I call out to her. Help me. Save me. Redeem me. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t respond. All my hope is fucking lost.
… I’m broken …
I watch the car—feel its movement encompassing me—slowly come to a stop, the damage unknown as the darkness consumes me.
… and so very bent …
My final exhale of resistance—from him, for her—as the fight leaves me.
Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.
“We’re losing him. He’s crashing!
… I wonder if there’s pain when you die …
“Colton, come back. Fight goddammit!”
Minutes turn into hours.
Hours turn into days.
Time slips away when we’ve lost too much of it as it is.
I refuse to leave Colton’s bedside. Too many people have left him in his life, and I refuse to do it when it matters the most. So I ramble to him incessantly. I speak about nothing and everything, but it doesn’t help. He never reacts, never moves … and it kills me.
Visitors drift in and out of his room in sporadic bouts: his parents, Quinlan, and Becks. Updates are given in the waiting room where some of the crew and Tawny still gather daily. And I have no doubt that Becks is making sure Tawny keeps her distance from me and my more than fragile
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