So, a rabbi, a priest, and a bishop walk into a bar.

And the bartender says…he says…

Shit.

I can't, for the life of me, remember the rest of this joke.

For the life of me.

Pun intended.

I'm feeling pretty warm now, despite the frigid water lapping at my knees. Even my arm has stopped throbbing. Mostly. Not sure about my leg. I pretty much can't feel anything from the waist down.

I will worry about the implications of that later.

I just wish I could remember the punchline to this fucking joke. I wanna tell it to Liv, but what's the point if I can't get her to laugh a bit? Take her mind off the situation at hand?

What's the point, indeed.

Funny, the thoughts that wander into your head when you're sure you're gonna die.

Funny, ha ha.

A rabbi, a priest, and a bishop walk into a bar.

And the bartender says…he says…

Shit.

It's so dark. It never gets this dark in the city.

The car, at least, has stopped moving. We seem to be stuck here, angled nose down, in a small river. I can feel movement, gentle, bobbing. Almost like being in a rowboat. Almost soothing.

You know, under different circumstances.

Water has been seeping in through the doors, slowly, steadily, for a long time, it seems. I can't move my arm to check my watch. I'm sure it's been hours since we crashed.

I'm not cold anymore at least. I'm not exactly comfortable, though. I'm wet. I'm sure something, somewhere in my body, is broken, or at least badly damaged.

I wonder how Olivia is. I'm trying not to think about her to much, but it's hard because she's right there, sort of hunched over and I can't see her face, or much of anything else, for that matter. She hasn't moved since the accident. I can't reach her. Can't touch her to comfort her. I've been talking, on and off, for hours, it seems. Babbling. Telling stories. Reminiscing. I talk to her about my kids. About Kathy. How our marriage slowly fell to pieces no matter how desperately we tried to hang on to it. It just fell apart. No one's fault. Well, Kathy would probably say otherwise. But, I don't blame her. Surprisingly, I don't blame myself, either. I'm done with the guilt-trip. I did the best I could do.

At least, I've convinced myself of that. Which is almost as good as actually believing it. Right?

Which is how I'm handling this situation with Olivia. I've become a bit of an expert at ignoring the obvious. I have somehow convinced myself that she's all right, because thinking otherwise might just finish me off right now.

So, in my reality, she is unconscious, but breathing. Maybe a few broken bones, like me. Hey, we can sign each other's casts. We can compare injuries as we recover in hospital beds. Dry, warm, comfortable hospital beds. Some day, not too far down the road, we'll sit in some bar, drinking beer, laughing about this particular road trip. We'll laugh because we survived it. Just another day, another memory to share.

Fuck, it's dark.

Wait. What's that?

Something is moving. Shuddering. Barely noticeable, but there. I try to turn my head. Nope. That hurts too much. I stop. Are we moving? Has the water finally tugged us loose?

I hold my breath, close my eyes.

Something is shaking.

Oh.

It's just me.

I breathe out.

"Hey, Liv. Have you heard this one?


A rabbi, a priest, and a bishop walk into a bar.

And the bartender says…he says…"

Funny, the thoughts that wander into your head when you think you're gonna die.

I could have sworn I felt Olivia touch me. I think I was asleep. That, or passed out, which is possible. But I felt something. Hands cupping my face. Breath, so warm. I thought I was warm until I felt that breath and then I realized how cold I was. Breath on my cheek. A voice, her voice, had to be, so close to my ear. I don't know shit if I don't know the sound of her voice.

Hang on.

Hang on.

Hang on.

Elliot.

Elliot.

Don't.

You.

Dare.

Leave.

Me.

She sounded bossy, like she so often does. But underneath the sharp no-nonsense command was an emotion I don't think I've ever heard in her voice before.

Panic.

I tried to nod, tried to reach up to grab the hands on my face, but I'm not sure anything was moving. Not sure the message Move your fucking hand, Elliot, was traveling from my brain to the rest of my body.

I tried to respond. I tried to get the voice to understand that I'm not planning on going anywhere.

Staying put, I am.

I would, however, like to get the fuck outta this car at some point.

So, a rabbi, a priest and a bishop walk into a bar.

Richard kissed her. Richard, my own scuzzy, slimy, lying cousin kissed Olivia and did God-knows-what-else with her, in my own house, I might add, at my own damn birthday party.

I've never kissed her. For the record. Because it's good to be a little honest, to set that proverbial record straight, so to speak, when you think you might kick off soon.

God knows I've wanted to. Kiss her. There have been days, weeks, when it's all I've thought about, when it's all that's kept me going.

So, what do I do? I end up fucking my partner. The wrong one.

And now, it's all ruined.

I glance over at that dark figure in the seat next to me. More than anything I want to wrap my arms around her, pull her close to me, feel her heart beating beneath her breasts, her skin, her ribcage.

I want

I want

I want

Her.

"I've wrecked it," I say to her. There is a sob buried somewhere underneath these words but I'm in too much pain to let it out. I'm just too damn tired to cry. "I've wrecked everything."

I wonder if she understands.

I wonder if she cares about me, even a little bit.

I wonder if she even fucking hears me.

Funny, the thoughts that wander into your head when you're sure you're gonna die.

Really fucking funny.


So dark.

Olivia.

Focus.

Could have sworn she touched me.

Give just about anything to feel her hands on my face again.

Close my eyes.

Nothingnothingnothing.

Maybe a dream after all.

Swear to God we get outta this alive I'll kiss you myself whether you want it or not.

She said

Don't.

You.

Dare.

Leave.

Me.

Never.


tbc