Boy meets girl.
Boy meets girl by crashing his car into girl.
Boy meets girl by crashing his car into girl who was running away.
Boy meets girl by crashing his car into girl who was running away from everything. xxxxx Disclaimer: The character's names aren't mine. But everything else (ideas, words, phrases, peoples, places) is property of my imagination, and those little voices inside my head hate when people steal. Thanks. xxxxxPrologue- {Crashed}
"Bitch!" The beer bottle missed my head by mere inches, shattering into an amber constellation across the wall. My hands instinctively reached up to protect my face, fearful of the menacing shards. I ran out the door with amazing speed and grace, my battered converse pushing me further along the paved runway as my eyes battled a swarm of tears. I blocked out his drunken voice yelling at me, commanding me to return. Hearing it only made my heart beat faster and my legs pump quicker.
My heart twisted in my chest, writhing. I choked on the pain; my lungs felt devoid of air. But my legs continued to move in robotic like strides. And as I ran, my thoughts drifted.
I didn't know where I was going. This moment was something I had often dreamed of. At night, I would lay awake, listening to the choleric and indignant venting of the inhabitants below me. Their voices would reach me like the long and sickly fingers of a nightmare that was always present. Battling dark thoughts, I would turn on my side and listen to the aria of my dream. I used to plan my escape beneath the piercing stars of the night sky. My main dream consisted of running away and never coming back, taking flight as easily as the birds that graced the sky. I would see all the places that the stars watched like an audience; I would see the world from a different perspective.
And now, it was so surreal for me. No matter the countless times I had imagined it, planned every detail of it, I never expected it to feel so remarkable and baffling.
My feet carried me far away from the limits of my town: through the traffic lights and busy streets, over the grass- both gnarled and clean cut. With each stride, my surroundings became more foreign, but I kept running.
I felt like wings had sprouted from my back, carrying me far away from where the source of my nightmares lay. But my flight wasn't in fear of those twisted days. It was in hope for better times.
xxxxx
He knew the party was never a good idea. As he surveyed his peers, all holding the trademark red plastic cups of alcohol, he grimaced. They were all drunk- dancing and laughing, throwing their lives away in one night. The house had been trashed: with each wave of beer came another broken item. The party was like every other hosted by the reckless teenagers of his town, and he hated them for that. They were the immature, unrealistic members of his school that thought life was just an extended party. He hated them for not being able to think as clearly as he could. Why couldn't they see that life was shit?
Throwing the empty cup to the ground, he headed for the door.
He took his car keys out of his pocket, vaguely aware that he wasn't supposed to be driving without someone legal next to him, and opened the door to his sleek, black, racing machine.
At that moment, he needed to drive. He needed to feel the adrenaline coursing through his body like a drug as the car purred past 50 mph. He needed to feel that thump in his chest as he raced along the darkened roads that skirted the outside of his town.
He needed to go, and fast.
He took his car tactically along the less traveled roads, attempting to evade any known police spots. It had taken a full month to map out where the squad cars would sit in wait, and he was now able to speed without getting caught.
The open air was extraordinarily refreshing. Gone were the sick smells of booze and sweat. Gone was the sweltering heat of the stuffy house. It was just he, the car, and the miles ahead.
He tried not to think about the party. He tried not to think how he had caught his girlfriend and his best friend half dressed and in a serious lip lock. Well, make it ex-girlfriend and ex-best friend. He frowned. He didn't care what they did anymore. Life was shit.
His foot itched to push the pedal harder and run his car straight out of the county, but he didn't. He knew that his grandparents would be extremely upset if he wasn't home by twelve, and Alice didn't like seeing him get into trouble. It wasn't helping that his case that his breath was tainted with beer. Even if it had only been an ounce, he knew it was illegal and his grandfather was a martinet. If he continued any further away from home, he knew that there would be a heavy price to pay: namely, his car. So, he made a u-turn and headed for town, only slowing when the woods grew too thick to see his surroundings. God knows a deer could run out of nowhere and ruin his perfect car. His C-class had been his father's possession, and was the only thing he had left of him besides troubling memories. He wasn't about to lose it to another crash.
Up ahead his headlights traced a blur on the road. It was too dark to try and figure out what it was, and by time he had, the object was moments from being crushed.
It was a girl.
He slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching out in protest as the car came to a stop, but his reaction time wasn't quick enough. The bumper hit her with enough force to knock her down.
"Shit!" He swore loudly, leaping out from the vehicle immediately, and reaching down to see if the girl was okay. Her limbs were thin and sprawled across the pavement like a broken toy. The sickening shades of green, purple, and blue poked out from beneath the over sized t-shirt and shorts. A nauseating mix of blood and mud caked her clothes. Her hair was wild: a frizzy net of brown that encircled her almond shaped face. When he caught sight of it, his breathing all but stopped.
Despite the dirt that scuffed her cheeks, and a faint hint of a scar near her hairline, he could tell she was nothing short of beautiful. Almost like a goddess, Aphrodite perhaps, descended from Mt. Olympus. A thick line of blood was dried on her delicate cheek where a cut had once been. He frowned.
What had happened to her? Was she beaten up and left for dead? Had she runaway from somewhere?
The possibilities were endless and gruesome. And then, there was the matter of what he should do to help her.
Should he call the police? Would she be able to make the drive to the hospital? Was she even alive? He detested the thought that he might've killed her; that he might've become like the scum who killed his parents. He wasn't a murderer: he was just a reckless teenager. Harmless, really.
The questions swirled angrily in his mind, and he shook his head, as if to clear it. Then, he reached down, tentatively taking her wrist in his hands, and checked for a pulse. It was there, although it was faint and slow.
He decided against calling 911. He didn't want to get in any more trouble, and, when he pulled out his cell phone, he found that it was dead. He would take her home and let his grandfather decide what would be best.
He scooped the fallen angel into his arms, gently carrying her over to the car and placing her in the passenger seat. Once she was strapped in, he hopped to the other side and pushed his car faster than he'd ever taken it. His surroundings all but blurred at the car's velocity. As he came to the small farmhouse in the middle of a sea of cornfields, he slowed his rapid pace. The wheels swerved into a parked position on the crumbling driveway before he dashed out of the car, took her in his arms, and carried her inside.
As he did, he grew nervous.
She hadn't woken up yet, although he could hear the light inhale and exhale of her breath in the silence of the night. And she was so light: were her bones hollow like a bird's? Was she mental? That would explain the scars and scrapes, but he doubted that anyone this beautiful could be. He couldn't stomach the thought that she was.
He carefully walked up the three wooden steps leading to the porch of his grandparent's farmhouse. Some of the brown wooded deck was splitting, and the yellow paint of the walls had long since faded. One of his grandmother's cats was dozing on the welcome mat, it's tawny fur matted with dirt. He nudged it gently to the side, shifted the girl's weight so she rested mostly on his shoulder, and opened the door with a quick twist.
"Edward?" The harried voice of his grandmother called. "Is that you?" She appeared from around the corner, her white bathrobe with pink flowers hugged her sagging frame; her glasses perched on her nose awkwardly. With her graying curly hair, sweet disposition, and baked goods to die for, she was loveable. Edward couldn't have asked for a better grandparent, and was extremely lucky to still have the both of his. But, when she was cross or upset- which she rarely was- she showed it. "Where have you been young man? Your grandfather and I were just about to call the police station."
When she finally got a full view of him-and the girl in his arms- she paused, her mouth dropping down in shock. "Oh my…" She whispered, her brown eyes wide behind the glass frames. Her voice faded easily into the hushed night.
Edward's eyes never strayed from the girl as he bore her to the kitchen and finally set her down on the scratchy, worn red cushions of the sofa. His arms seemed almost reluctant to let her go, as if she would shatter as soon as he set her down. His grandmother followed him, looking at her inquisitively. "What happened?" She asked to no one, the question dissolving into the air.
He shrugged in response, and she hurried from the room, returning with his grandfather. "What?" He asked gruffly. His eyes drifted down from his grandson to the girl lying on the couch.
"This some girl of yours?" When his grandson shook his head, his frown grew more pronounced. "Did you think to call the police?" He fired, this time more gently. He looked him up and down, and decided that he didn't want an answer. "You've been partying again, haven't you?"
"Yeah." Edward muttered, crossing his arms. His grandfather didn't say anything, but walked up to him.
"Breathe."
Edward hesitated, knowing that if he did, his grandfather would smell the alcohol. But if this were what it was going to take to get the girl help, then he would do it. So, he did, letting loose a slight stench of beer, and waited for his grandfather's backlash.
"You're not drunk." His grandfather stated questioningly, and Edward shook his head. "Did you drive?" He nodded, not afraid of his grandfather's reaction.
The old man sighed as he walked over to the corner chair and sat in it, his wrinkly hand rubbing his withered forehead. He closed his eyes, and they waited for direction.
"Elizabeth, call Officer Jack. Ask him if he could make a house call. Then contact Mr. Ethans. See if he can come check her out when Mr. Jack is done here."
"What should I tell him about the girl?" His grandmother questioned, jerking her head to the motionless body.
"Tell him…" His grandfather thought for a second. "Tell him our son found a runaway passed out outside."
His grandmother left the room, taking the kitchen phone with her.
"Edward." His grandfather turned to face him with a weary expression. "I haven't thought of something just enough for what you did, especially after last time, but… make sure this doesn't happen again."
He replied in a hushed, reflective tone. "Yes, sir."
"And I would like you to talk to Mr. Jack if he asks. Tell him what you were doing, where you found her: anything that might help our situation." He nodded as his grandfather got up and left the room. Sighing, he sat down on the brick of the fireplace, looking at the girl draped helplessly on the couch. Under the dim light from the kitchen, he studied her once more.
She was like a nightmare. A girl washed in and out with barbed wire, cleaned thoroughly with a doubled edged knife. He shivered involuntarily, imagining the possible solutions. By this time, he convinced himself somehow that she was a runaway. In his mind, there wasn't any other explanation. But what could've been so bad for her to leave? Maybe it was a pure horror where she used to live. Or maybe, she just was tired of being buckled down in one place and needed to move. Did she leave anyone behind?
As he looked at her face, he was unsure. No one as beautiful as her could be single. She was like a renaissance painting: something beautiful despite the flaws, and something more meaningful beneath the skin.
A loud knock at the door interrupted his musing. He almost leapt off the fireplace, and headed for the doorway. He leaned against it solemnly as he listened to the conversation.
"…Grandson found her, correct?" The officer's voice was calm and affirmative as his pen scratched busily on a pad of paper. "Is he here?"
"Yes. I'll get him." The sound of his grandfather's slow shuffle alerted him and he walked to the door himself.
"Yes, officer?" The portly man looked so startled that Edward struggled to keep his face perfectly straight. He bit the corners of his lips to keep from grinning at the man in mirth.
Officer Jack was a familiar character in the town: his beady brown eyes were set between a pinched nose and plump cheeks with a wispy mustache aligning his lips. He watched at the man broadened his shoulders quickly in the faded blue uniform and straightened his tie, trying to gain a confident posture. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
He answered the man's questions with ease and civil words, all the while wondering what the officer would do. After telling him the story, the man asked if he had driven. He bit his lip: he knew he wasn't supposed to. Slowly he nodded. The officer frowned and reminded him that it was illegal. As Edward assumed a defensive state, his grandfather appeared from over his shoulder.
"Yes sir, he's highly aware of it. It's my fault: I was in desperate need of my medication and I had my grandson run out and get it for me." His grandfather help up a white paper bag, tagged with a pharmacy note, as evidence of the trip.
The boy was shocked at his grandfather's obvious lie, but the officer was convinced. "Since you have been my friend for a long time, Harry, and this boy has never gotten in real trouble before, then I'll let it slide. But one more time, my friend, and I shall have to bring your grandson in." Officer Jack flipped to the next page in his notepad, scrunching his face together in a silent check.
"Thank you." His grandfather replied to the man, and Edward's posture settled, more relaxed.
"Do not think of mentioning it. You've done many things for this town." The officer reminded him. His grandfather just smiled and disappeared. "Now, I would like to see the girl."
"Of course, officer." Edward led him through the hallway to the battered couch where she lay, as still as ever.
"Well, she's definitely bruised." He hid his grin once more at the keen observation, a sarcastic voice ringing in his head. Thank you, Captain Obvious. "Has Dr. Ethans arrived?" Officer Jack inquired, taking a seat as he scrawled his own assessment on the new piece of paper.
"Not yet. He said he'd be round in ten minutes, more or less." Edward's grandmother reappeared, her worried eyes flickering between the officer and the still girl on the couch. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?" She proposed, and he nodded.
"Some tea would be welcome, thank you." She left the room to set the kettle on, waiting for the water to boil. A few minutes after the heated kettle let loose an increasingly earsplitting shriek, a knock from the door informed the four that Dr. Ethans had arrived. Mr. Jack sipped his tea- black, no sugar or cream- patiently as Edward's grandmother fetched the doctor from the doorway.
The doctor was an old man. In fact, most of the grownups in his town were considerably old. Edward watched the doctor's wrinkled face frown in confusion as he checked the girl's pulse. His gray haired head was balding substantially, and his glasses did little to conceal the tired look in his eyes. Edward guessed that they had woken the man from a much-needed slumber, and felt little remorse. The old man bent to peer precariously at his subject, his bones seeming to creak with every movement.
"A compress, Elizabeth. And Tylenol for when she wakes." The doctor requested as he went through the standard procedure. His grandmother returned with a cold, slightly damp towel, and handed it to the doctor, who placed it on the girl's head. "If she doesn't wake in the next ten minutes, I'll drive her to the hospital and let you know how she's doing the next morning."
They watched intently, not really expecting anything. Edward's grandfather seemed to think she was dead, and he couldn't help but worry that she was. Had he imagined her pulse? He dared not to think that he had actually killed someone: the thought was too horrid and foreign. But he had hit her pretty hard- she had fell down from their collision. He was lucky enough that he had slowed down, or he would've been in the middle of a blood bath.
Then, in the slightest of movements, she stirred.
Her body twitched, slowly regaining its strength. And then, after her head twisted a bit, her eyes fluttered open to reveal the soothing shade of melted chocolate. It was electrifying: Edward stood breathlessly as he stared at them.
Those exhilarating eyes wandered dazedly about the room, before she slowly raised her head. A frown filtered on her face as she lay back down and closed her eyes. Her lips formed barely coherent words that lingered above a whisper. "Where am I?"
Edward's stomach churned in a thick knot and his posture went rigid. His head spun wildly as something surged to the back of his throat. It was like his heart had leapt up his pipes and was clogging the back of his mouth. He didn't know what feeling was rising in him. All he knew was that he didn't like it: not one little bit.
Tiredly, he bid the people in the room a goodnight and swiftly turned to exit.
That night, he didn't get any sleep. His mind was centered on the girl. It was like nothing else mattered: not school, not friends, not family, not even his life. It was all about the girl.
She had become his personal axis mundi from the moment she opened her eyes.