Read Online WORTHY, Part 1 by Lexie Ray - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lexie Ray
Tags: Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Sagas, Short Stories, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, Women's Fiction, New Adult & College
Ads: Link
unreasonable. Jonathan didn’t deserve to be lashed out at because of my past. “Now, I’ve packed some sandwiches…”
I started to root around inside the backpack in earnest, but Jonathan snagged my wrist, stilling me. His touch seared my skin, took my breath away, made me wish that things were different.
“I think it would be good for you to talk about it,” he said. “You put on a happy face, Michelle, but I know that you’re holding onto some deep things. Maybe it’d be best if you let them out, seeing as how you finally have someone to let them out to sitting right beside you.”
“I don’t think I can,” I whispered.
“I’m right here,” he said, and somehow, the simple statement was comforting and caring, enveloping me like a hug. I realized that Jonathan was still holding my wrist and blushed a little bit, pulling my hands into my own lap. Was I really going to do this? I’d left everything behind when I moved to the cottage, but somehow, it all seemed to be rushing to catch back up to me. This was exactly what I didn’t want, but I felt like I owed Jonathan something. He had his own problems to deal with, and I didn’t want to distract him with keeping secrets.
I took a deep breath.
“It’s nothing—well, it’s something. My parents, they—they died,” I said, hating myself as I did, my voice too soft, too shaky.
I stared, unseeing, at the ground in front of us. Unwillingly, I was transported back to that dark night.
I had been so happy, telling my parents about the summer job I was planning on starting. I was going to make some money to save for college, which would start in the fall. Even though I’d just finished high school, my life seemed like a wide open door in front of me. I had been aware of everything seeming like it was just beginning.
I had been so full of hope.
Then, my dad had cursed. He never cursed, so I remembered being a mixture of shocked and amused. Then, terror.
The screech of tires was one of the things I remembered very well. My dad was trying so hard to stop the car, but the tires against the wet road couldn’t handle the sudden necessity. They screeched on and on like terrible, panicked birds. They’d made the panic build inside of me, too.
I don’t know who started screaming. Maybe it was my mom. She was sitting in the front seat, so she would’ve seen it coming, the unavoidable collision. But I probably would’ve screamed, too, hearing her scream. She never screamed.
Then, everything was swallowed by the bone-crunching thud. It silenced everything, became the new ending to all my nightmares. That thud was the end. There was no hope after that. What my dad had been trying to avoid, what my mom had been screaming at, had come to pass.
Things were confusing, after that. I’d had so many people try to explain it to me —well-meaning relatives and counselors, hoping it would give me some sort of peace or closure or understanding or something—but I preferred my version. My version was cleaner, less definitive.
After the life-ending, future-ending thud, there was a strange, jarring sense of weightlessness, as if we were floating away somewhere, much too gently for what had just happened. There was utter silence: no screeching of tires, no screaming, no thuds.
The next thing that had grabbed my attention was the smell. It was corrosively sweet, and it made my stomach turn. Looking back, I knew that it had to have been a mixture of gasoline and oil, of all the fluids that worked together to make the car run. They were all leaking, their various containers punctured in the crushing crash.
The silence, the smell, then, the heat—God, the heat. Nothing was that hot. Nothing could be that hot. I remembered screaming myself hoarse, screaming so loud and long that I coughed blood for days after. Even when strong hands pulled me from the crumpled wreck of the car, the heat was still there. Then, there was nothing.
They told me that a drunken driver had
I started to root around inside the backpack in earnest, but Jonathan snagged my wrist, stilling me. His touch seared my skin, took my breath away, made me wish that things were different.
“I think it would be good for you to talk about it,” he said. “You put on a happy face, Michelle, but I know that you’re holding onto some deep things. Maybe it’d be best if you let them out, seeing as how you finally have someone to let them out to sitting right beside you.”
“I don’t think I can,” I whispered.
“I’m right here,” he said, and somehow, the simple statement was comforting and caring, enveloping me like a hug. I realized that Jonathan was still holding my wrist and blushed a little bit, pulling my hands into my own lap. Was I really going to do this? I’d left everything behind when I moved to the cottage, but somehow, it all seemed to be rushing to catch back up to me. This was exactly what I didn’t want, but I felt like I owed Jonathan something. He had his own problems to deal with, and I didn’t want to distract him with keeping secrets.
I took a deep breath.
“It’s nothing—well, it’s something. My parents, they—they died,” I said, hating myself as I did, my voice too soft, too shaky.
I stared, unseeing, at the ground in front of us. Unwillingly, I was transported back to that dark night.
I had been so happy, telling my parents about the summer job I was planning on starting. I was going to make some money to save for college, which would start in the fall. Even though I’d just finished high school, my life seemed like a wide open door in front of me. I had been aware of everything seeming like it was just beginning.
I had been so full of hope.
Then, my dad had cursed. He never cursed, so I remembered being a mixture of shocked and amused. Then, terror.
The screech of tires was one of the things I remembered very well. My dad was trying so hard to stop the car, but the tires against the wet road couldn’t handle the sudden necessity. They screeched on and on like terrible, panicked birds. They’d made the panic build inside of me, too.
I don’t know who started screaming. Maybe it was my mom. She was sitting in the front seat, so she would’ve seen it coming, the unavoidable collision. But I probably would’ve screamed, too, hearing her scream. She never screamed.
Then, everything was swallowed by the bone-crunching thud. It silenced everything, became the new ending to all my nightmares. That thud was the end. There was no hope after that. What my dad had been trying to avoid, what my mom had been screaming at, had come to pass.
Things were confusing, after that. I’d had so many people try to explain it to me —well-meaning relatives and counselors, hoping it would give me some sort of peace or closure or understanding or something—but I preferred my version. My version was cleaner, less definitive.
After the life-ending, future-ending thud, there was a strange, jarring sense of weightlessness, as if we were floating away somewhere, much too gently for what had just happened. There was utter silence: no screeching of tires, no screaming, no thuds.
The next thing that had grabbed my attention was the smell. It was corrosively sweet, and it made my stomach turn. Looking back, I knew that it had to have been a mixture of gasoline and oil, of all the fluids that worked together to make the car run. They were all leaking, their various containers punctured in the crushing crash.
The silence, the smell, then, the heat—God, the heat. Nothing was that hot. Nothing could be that hot. I remembered screaming myself hoarse, screaming so loud and long that I coughed blood for days after. Even when strong hands pulled me from the crumpled wreck of the car, the heat was still there. Then, there was nothing.
They told me that a drunken driver had
Similar Books
