LIFE OR DEATH

Chapter One: Crash Course

Some people say your life flashes before your eyes in those final moments before death. And maybe it does for some.

But all I saw, as I sped towards the wall that would end it all for me, was Haley.

I swear I wasn't looking to kill myself. I don't think I was suicidal. And I know I wasn't intending to end it all when I got behind the wheel of that car. In fact, I didn't even plan to crash when I passed the pit and started that high-speed lap. I just…I just wanted to stop the pain. Every time I shut my eyes, I saw Haley. I dreamt about her. Then I would wake up in the morning, expecting to see her by my side, and I would be alone. And I would remember that I just wasn't enough for her.

And then I saw that wall, and I hit the accelerator.

It wasn't the first time I'd tried to stop the pain.

I'd tried alcohol, but that didn't work. Turns out I'm a bitter, destructive drunk. Inebriated and heartbroken, my drunken self not only thought of Haley constantly, but also lacked the faculties to block her out of my mind. And any other sense of self-control. I destroyed almost every remnant of Haley's existence in the apartment – the wedding wall, the keyboard, even her toothbrush.

It wasn't fair. How could I need her so bad, without her ever needing me back? How could I not have felt that, felt the lack of reciprocation? I thought I knew her. If I did, how could I not notice that she didn't need me?

Pain. Agony. Haley. I just wanted it to stop. Nothing was the same anymore. Runs always used to clear my head. If I couldn't get something off of my mind, I would lace up my cross-trainers and just run:

Run until I had outdistanced my problems.

Run until my thoughts became incoherent blips and jumbles.

Run until my body disconnected itself from my mind.

Run until exhaustion took over, dulling my consciousness.

Run until the physical pain blocked out my mental agony.

That didn't work anymore. When I ran, the soles of my shoes beat her name out on the pavement with every step. Ha-ley. Ha-ley. Ha-ley. The rhythm of my breathing panted her name. "Ha-ley. Ha-ley. Ha-ley." I couldn't run away from her any more than I could run away from myself.

The physical pain of the run was some respite, but even that was incomplete. Even that failed to block out the ache I felt at my very core. The one that never stopped, no matter what I tried. The one that was so painful that I couldn't tell if it was physical or mental. Until Haley left, I never believed it was possible to die of a broken heart.

And maybe it isn't.

Maybe it isn't the broken heart that kills you – maybe it's the numbness that comes after it. 'Cuz sometimes, I couldn't feel anything. Not hunger, not physical pain. Just that same ache. And sometimes I couldn't even feel that. I was so used to that pain, sometimes I didn't feel it at all. I felt nothing. And that's worse. Because even when I didn't feel it, I never forgot that it was there, that it always would be.

She was everywhere. She was in my every movement, the very air I breathed, that kept me alive. How can the one person that sustains you be the one person that is killing you, too? 'Cuz she was killing me. Slowly, painfully.

There were times when I hated her – actually, could never really hate Haley, so I just hated myself instead. Times I wanted to hate her, wanted to make her hurt like she made me hurt. Then there would be the times when I needed her so bad, ached for her so much, I would literally be sick, literally throw up. Times when I stared up at the ceiling for hours and hours on end, not sleeping, not eating, unable to remember a single thought in my head other than her name. Haley.

So when I accelerated that car, when I kept it straight as the wall curved in on me, I wasn't thinking about death: I didn't want to die.

I wasn't thinking about life, either: I hadn't been alive for a while. Not really, anyway.

All I was thinking about was that ache that would never, ever go away. The ache that would be there for always. Always and Forever. 'Cuz if Haley wasn't gonna be there, that ache sure as hell would be.

I just wanted – for one second, just one second – to not feel the pain she had inflicted on me. To not see her face every time I blinked. I wasn't thinking about death. I wasn't thinking about life. I just wanted to escape that pain, escape her, at least for a little while.

There was a moment that I knew it was too late. A moment in which I consciously realized that, even if I wanted to turn and avoid the wall, it was too late, and I would be leaving the car in a body bag, maybe on a stretcher, if I was lucky. I was so calm, that thought was so rational, but it was far, far, far back in the recesses of my mind. I don't even remember thinking it, I just know that I did, somewhere in the back of my mind. And the reason all rationality was in the back of my mind was because Haley was in the front of it. She always was. Everything else was just background noise.

So in those moments that I knew it was too late, she was all I saw. I didn't see the day I made varsity, one of the proudest moments of my life. I didn't see myself being lifted onto the shoulders of my teammates after a winning game. Instead, I saw Haley. I saw her in her wedding dress, on the beach. I saw her in my arms. I saw her the day I asked her to marry me, the day I told her I would love her forever, the day she promised I would never lose her. Then I saw her with Chris. I saw her leave Tree Hill, leave me, leave us. And then everything went black.

When I came to, my first thought was of Haley. The first thing I felt was that ache returning. Not my numerous broken ribs, the searing pain I later felt when I struggled to breathe with broken ribs and a punctured lung, not my knee, or my neck or my back. It was that ache.

And it was then that I knew I would never escape her. I had tried to escape the pain of life, and still, there was Haley. I had narrowly escaped death, and Haley was still there. I could try to escape life, I could escape death, but there would never, ever be any escaping Haley. But then again, I wasn't even sure if I wanted to.

That was almost a year ago.

I'd like to think I've changed since then. Matured, maybe. I know I have learned a lot about life and love since then, but now I'm not so sure.

Because right now, I feel an even deeper pain, a deeper ache, then I felt back then.

Because right now, Haley is being prepped for emergency surgery, and the doctors don't know if she and the baby are going to make it.