Drowning: An Angsty Standalone

by Marni Mann

  Traitor. Coward. Destroyed.

  There are more words, but I have to stop reading.

  “Clay, huh? So, that’s the name you’re going with these days?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I’m sure there’s a whole different side to this article, Adrian, and I would have believed it if you’d given me the chance. But you didn’t give that to me. You lied instead. And, now, I have no choice but to believe the vile things they’ve said about you. So, why don’t you turn back around and pretend we never met?”

  The thumping in my goddamn chest isn’t because I want to yell at her or because I’m angry with her. I’m not even upset by the things she said. I deserve all of that and more.

  I’m angry with myself.

  I’ve destroyed one more thing when all I want is to protect her.

  There’s nothing I can say—not to Andi, to the media, or to my mom.

  So, I turn back around like she asked.

  And I hate myself a little more.

  Andi

  Staring at the back of Clay’s head for the last twenty minutes has done nothing but piss me off. Any man who can look me in the eye and lie to my face isn’t someone I need in my life—or want. I hate Clay or Adrian, whatever I’m supposed to call him. I hate him, and I don’t even know him.

  I’ve gone down this path. I’ve spent years of my life giving Brooks the benefit of the doubt. When he told me he was sorry for hurting me, I believed him. When he apologized for losing his temper and said that it wouldn’t happen again, I trusted him to keep that promise. And, on the days he swore he couldn’t live without me, that I made him a better man, I promised him I wasn’t going anywhere.

  He was a goddamn magician, spinning my weaknesses into his strengths. Using every bit of my character against me, so I’d feel like I needed him to survive. Making me believe I was incapable of holding my own head above water.

  Look at me now, Brooks. I’m fucking swimming.

  And look at me, Clay, you pathetic liar. I’m smarter than you think.

  I refuse to postpone my freedom by getting caught up in the same sticky web. The red flags are waving in the air, the smoke signals are going off, making the haze thick enough to choke on. Clay lured me in, but it’s time I unhook the deceit and throw it back to sea. No matter what, I’m going to keep running.

  I just have to decide if I’m curious enough to find out Clay’s plan—of how he thinks he can offer me help and protection.

  Am I really that weak? So desperate that I need a man to solve my problems?

  Maybe.

  Probably.

  I don’t know.

  My body might be on the freedom train, but my heart is still so confused. My mind is cloudy, and my judgment is skewed. The more miles that come between me and New York, the harder it gets to stand on my own two feet with as much confidence as I had back at the station. It was easy when I was closer to the pain.

  I need it to be easy now. Because, every thirty seconds or so, Clay glances over his shoulder to make sure I’m still here. Where else could I possibly go? Even if I wanted to sit someplace else, I’d have to walk right by him to do it. Maybe that’s what he wants. He wants me to get the hell away from him, so he can stop worrying about fixing me, stop feeling obligated to solve my problems now that he’s had a look at my face.

  Considering his face is plastered all over the paper, he should worry about himself. Clay’s appearance isn’t exactly like the picture in the newspaper, but his eyes will keep giving him away wherever he goes. The windows to his soul cut like a knife yet soothe the deepest of wounds. They’re so powerful, they almost made me believe in a man who doesn’t even exist.

  God, I miss Camille. If she were here, he wouldn’t have come within a foot of where I’m sitting. He would have kept his distance and not asked a single question. He wouldn’t have tried to pretend he’s superhuman and capable of fixing what’s broken. My support system would have been sitting right next to me. Camille’s all I’ve ever needed.

  “Andi,” he says as he stares at me again, “please look at me.”

  Hating that I’m about to acknowledge him when I don’t want to, I turn my head and stare into his pleading eyes. They’re so desperate, I’m positive they’re on their hands and knees, begging me to hear him out.

  “It’s killing you, isn’t it? That I’m not paying you any attention?”

  “It’s killing me that you think I’m like the guy they described in the paper. I never was. You have to believe me.”

  “You sure look like him.”

  Shaking his head, he says, “It’s me. But nothing happened the way the world thinks it did.”

  “Whatever makes you feel better, Clay.”

  “I didn’t lie to you, Andi. I want to help you.”

  I’ve heard enough. Grabbing my suitcase, I pull it behind me. My purse hangs from my wrist, banging against my thigh.

  The second he sees me move down the aisle, he stands. I’ll hit him over the head with my bag if he tries to stop me.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find a seat someplace else. Someplace quiet.”

  He reaches for my arm, but I pull it away before he can even think about laying a finger on me. Remembering the pepper spray in my purse, I inch my hand closer, just in case.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reached for you. But you have to know, I’m not going to hurt you, Andi,” he says with regret.

  “Your lies hurt, Adrian. But I don’t know why I even care. You’ll never be sorry about anything you do. You’re just another entitled prick who thinks he can rule the world.”

  “You have no idea what my life is like or who I am or what I’m even thinking right now.”

  I’m so close to the exit. The red sign is only a couple of feet away, yet my body wants to sink into the seat next to Clay until he tells me just how he’s going to help me.

  “At least you’re free,” I tell him.

  “Am I?” he questions. “We both live in hell; that’s why I can help you.”

  Before I have a chance to ask him what kind of help he’s talking about, the brakes screech so loud, I drop my bags and cover my ears with my hands. Clay braces his arms on the seat as we slam into the car in front of us.

  Like when Brooks has just connected with my temple, the darkness starts to chase the light away. I fight harder and harder to blink because, if I can just stay awake, I’ll be okay. At least that’s what I keep telling myself as I slip further away.

  There should be more screaming. But it’s silent.

  More panic. Yet there’s no movement.

  I’m going to die.

  Tears cascade down my cheeks when I realize I’ve survived long enough with Brooks, only to come face-to-face with my demise, for my life to end.

  My shallow breaths become fewer and fewer until I’m tempted by the shadows and welcomed by the light glowing all around me. I think I’ve been to this place once before. Only it’s prettier this time, more ethereal than ever.

  As gently as possible, I’m lifted into the air and transported to a better place. My body is still on the ground, the glass still slicing through my skin, but my soul has been set free.

  This is it.

  This is my new beginning.

  Clay

  Only a second ago, my hands were up in the air, and I took a step back from Andi. I was trying to show her I wasn’t going to hurt her while defending my character at the same time. And, now, I’m being thrown between rows of seats, ricocheting against the padded cushions. I clamp my hands around the metal legs underneath the seats and brace myself for whatever is coming.

  But what happens next is just more speed. Something hit our train, or we hit something. I’m not sure which, but we’re rolling and sliding, and inside this train, we’re like tiny pieces of glass, trying not to shatter in the middle of a tornado. Metal pounds into my body, the cushions feel more like bricks, and the loudest of sounds fill my ears.

 
; Screaming.

  Screeching.

  I know the latter comes from the train, but the yelling is from Andi. She’s the only other person inside this car. She didn’t have time to grab something, the crash happened too fast, because her body is now being thrown into the ceiling. During the next flip, she slams to the ground, and then she flies toward the back wall by the restroom.

  I try releasing the legs of the seat while we’re still in motion, but my back is slapped against a plastic tray, and I fall to my knees. Something whips across my face, and her screams get even louder.

  “Andi,” I yell over all the noise, “tell me you’re okay!”

  There’s so much fucking pain in her shouts, so much fear. I can’t take it away. I can’t let go of this metal, or I’ll be thrown to the ceiling and back onto the floor.

  “Andi, hold on.”

  We roll again, and I cross my legs around one of the cushions and push my back into the wall, using my weight to hold me in place. I keep my head low and tuck myself by the corner of the armrest, so nothing can strike me in the face again. I need to keep my mind as clear as possible. She’s going to be in much worse shape than me.

  “Andi, answer me.”

  I hear a bang, quickly followed by another of the same noise. Without looking, I have a feeling her back is hitting the ground.

  A cry comes shooting from her lips.

  More pain that she doesn’t need. More bruises. More horrible memories that will fill her mind.

  More scars.

  “You’re going to be okay!” I shout. “We’re slowing down. Just hang on.”

  This time, her cry is higher-pitched, her pain much worse than I feared. It’s not the sound of hope. It’s the sound of defeat.

  I still can’t get to her. The car is in the middle of another roll. My head crams into the armrest while we’re upside down, loosening when we’re back the right way.

  “Andi?”

  There’s no answer.

  No screams. No cries.

  The car teeters on the edge of another roll and stops, settling on whatever level ground we’re on. The screeching has finally faded.

  I haul myself out from the row of seats and rush toward the back of the car. Andi’s on the floor. Her face is slumped to the side. Her arm is dangling awkwardly across her body. She’s missing a shoe, and a bloody toe is sticking out from her ripped sock.

  “I’m here,” I say into her face, putting my mouth as close to her as possible.

  She needs to feel me.

  I certainly need to feel her.

  The blood seems to be growing by the second. It’s on her face and more of it is on her shirt. Some pools between my knees and her ribs. I search her clothes and can’t tell where it’s coming from. Any part of her body could be the source.

  “Andi, talk to me.”

  I cough from the smoke that I just now realize is filling the car. The thick haze makes it difficult to see her face, even harder to take a deep breath.

  “Andi?”

  There’s too much fucking smoke.

  Too much blood.

  Way too much silence.

  Where are her screams? Her cries? Why isn’t she telling me what hurts?

  “Andi, tell me where you’re hurting.”

  She still doesn’t respond. Her eyelids don’t even flutter.

  Her body stays completely still.

  I know I shouldn’t move her. I learned during all my years in sports that, if she has a spinal injury, I could damage her even more when I lift her. But all this smoke tells me it won’t be long before the whole car is on fire. If I don’t get her out of here soon, I won’t have the strength once my lungs are completely filled with smoke.

  “I have to carry you out of here, Andi. I don’t want to hurt you any worse, but we’re running out of time.”

  I wait a second.

  Still nothing.

  Fuck.

  I slide my arm under her knees with the other arm under her head, and I try to keep her body as straight as I can as I lift her into the air. Carefully, I step over all the rubble on the floor, including the upheaved seats, and I duck under the wires hanging from the ceiling. When I reach the door, I try pushing it open with the toe of my boot. It won’t budge. I turn around and try using the heel, and that doesn’t move it either.

  I haven’t thought this through very well.

  “I’m sorry, Andi. I have to put you down for a second.”

  I set her on the ground, making sure nothing is around that can hurt her, and I grab the side of the door. The metal against metal shrieks as I pry it open. A hinge pops off the frame from the pressure, and it slaps into my palm. One of the nails stabs my skin. I feel the warmth of the blood as it drips down my hand, but I ignore it.

  Leaning back down, I pick Andi up and cradle her against my chest. “I’m going to carry you outside,” I tell her.

  Still nothing. Not even a wince.

  Outside is completely different than inside. I cough as the clean air filters into my lungs, and I want to cover my ears from all the screaming, all the crying, all the chaos erupting around us.

  People are everywhere.

  They’re running across the grass. Standing in circles. Bodies are on the ground. Clothes are coming off. Objects are flying through the air.

  Blood. So much blood.

  I can’t think. I don’t know what to do, where to put her, how to ask for what I need. I don’t know what I need. I don’t know what she needs.

  I just know she isn’t talking.

  And there’s blood. Blood on her.

  More blood than before.

  “Does she need help?” someone asks.

  I don’t know where the voice is coming from, if the guy is asking me or someone else. But something inside me tells me that I need to put her down, that she’s already so hurt and my arms aren’t helping her at all.

  I find a clean stretch of grass and set her on top of it. Once I get her back straight, I take her hand in mine and bring her fingers up to my face.

  It’s only now that I see the piece of glass stuck in her side, just under her ribs. I tear her shirt, so I can get a better look at the hole. The shard is longer than my hand, as wide as several fingers. I’m not sure how deep it goes, but blood is dripping from the wound, and I can hear the wheezing in her lungs.

  “Leave it,” the same voice says from somewhere behind me. “If you remove it, she could bleed to death.”

  “How do you know that? And who the hell are you?” I ask him as he kneels on the other side of Andi.

  “I was a passenger in the third car. I’m on my way back to Temple University Hospital where I’m a second-year resident. So, trust me, I know what I’m talking about here.”

  His hands are on Andi, and I want to rip them off. I know he’s only trying to assess what’s wrong, and I know he can probably help, but I don’t want him causing her any pain.

  She already isn’t talking. Isn’t moving.

  If he can make her move, then I won’t strangle him. But, the second she winces or her eyebrow twitches, even the slightest, he’ll find himself on the ground right next to her.

  “Tell me she’s going to be okay,” I say.

  He lifts both of her eyelids to look at her pupils. Then, he places his ear next to her nose and mouth while his fingers grip her wrist.

  He doesn’t answer me.

  No one is fucking answering me.

  “We need to get her to a hospital,” he says.

  I slip my arm under her head, and he grabs my shoulder to stop me. “Get your goddamn hand off me right now.”

  “You can’t move her.”

  “Watch me,” I spit.

  He lifts his hands, his palms in the air, like I’m pointing a gun at his head. “Where are you taking her?”

  “To the hospital.”

  “You’re going to carry her there? Do you even know where the hospital is? Or where we are right now?”

  I look around me. A river is
less than twenty yards away. Trees and lots of power lines. There are plenty of sounds although I’m not sure if the noise is from cars on a nearby road or if it’s from the debris that seems to be moving all around us.

  “Listen,” he says when I don’t answer him, “I know you’re shaken up, I know this was traumatic, and I know you want to help her, but moving her will only make things worse for her. She needs to stay right here until the paramedics arrive. They’re on their way. In fact, it looks like they’re here now.”

  Still holding her head, I turn just as the red lights flash across the trees, the sirens surfacing through everything else that I hear.

  “The paramedics are here,” I say out loud, more for myself than for him. “They’re going to help her.”

  “Yes, they will. You did a great job of getting her out, and it looks like you did it just in time.”

  Two fire trucks have pulled up. Hoses from each are being dragged across the grass, and as water connects with the flames, smoke billows from the car we were in.

  My attention returns to Andi, and I gently lay her head back on the grass. Now that she’s flat again, the guy holds both sides of her face, inspecting her cheeks. It’s the one place I don’t want him touching her. Her skin looks even more swollen than it did earlier. The crash caused a cut above her eye and a gash on her lip. There’s blood on her ear, and I’m not sure what it’s from, but an earring is missing.

  “I’m surprised she’s this bruised already,” he says. “Usually, it takes several hours for this type of colorization to form.” He looks up, his brows pushing together. “Unless…”

  “I just met her for the first time on the train.”

  I don’t want to explain myself to this guy, but I sure as hell don’t want him saying anything to the paramedics that will keep me from going anywhere near Andi.

  “You two weren’t traveling together?”