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Trent laughed and held on to the door of the Chrysler. "Babe, watch the road!" He let out another laugh and held on to the top of his head, which was covered by a grey and black beanie. He tucked his head down further inside his thick wool black turtleneck and watched the road and the quick yellow flashes on black asphault highlighted by the headlights.
"We're gonna be late for the movie! Tiffy'll kill us!" Melanie laughed, "Really!" She hit the gas and went straight down the country road, the wind whistling through the open windows, the winter wind whipping through the car. "Plus, no one's out here!"
The countryside was lit only by the headlights of Melanie's car; the black trees silhoutted and porch lights glowed in the far off distance. Trent's cheeks were starting to hurt from his smile and his harsh breathing from the winter air. Exhilaration and excitement was pumping through him.
Melanie slowed down to 90 mph, then sped up to 102. "Woohoo!" She shouted, the whistling of the wind getting louder.
Trent leaned forward and grabbed the dashboard and then turned up the music. Della Reese was singing Come On A My House and it floated on the fast wind. He began to sing with it, and Melanie looked over quickly and smiled at him.
"Come on, come on A my house! I'ma give you a candy! Come on a my house, my house, I'm gonna give you a apple and a plum and a apricotta, too, hey!" Trent reached over and kissed her hand, and wondered how long this road lasted. It seemed to be going on forever.
Suddenly, Melanie snatched her hand back and turned the car. "We have three more miles until the busy road, baby! Three more miles of pure freedom!" She shouted, and handed her hand back.
Trent kissed up and down her hand and inside her palm, his fingers resting on her wrist and feeling her rushing pulse. "Woah!" She shouted again, throwing her head back.
Trent let go of her hand and sang even louder, rolling down the window completely and taking his beanie off. Their hair floated in the wind, her hair shining a brilliant red gold in the dim light.
Melanie looked over and smiled at him, her eyes full of love, and since she didn't suspect anything, she looked at him longer than she should have.
There was a startling blare of horns and screams, and then the sound of smashing glass and twisting metal as Melanie let out a scream that was cut off as the car jammed in around her.
Trent's body twisted, going through the windshield. He blocked his face and head with his arms, but he felt the glass shred the skin on his chest, stomach, and back. He felt something hot and sticky ooze all over his shirt, and he lay still the minute he touched the freezing road. He lay still for a moment, before his body began to shake. He had no idea his face had gone terribly white, and the top of his skull was cut open. He shook violently, and he reached down as best as he could to make sure he was okay.
"I-I-I'm just s-s-scared." He mummbled to himself, and touched his shredded sweater. Blood spilled from his split lip and a knick on his chin and poured down his face. Bringing his hands back up, he could see from the sideways lights of the twisted and broken car his hands were soaked in blood.
"Oh, shit." He began to throw up, his body thriving and twisting and sweat rolled down him forehead. "Fuck."
He looked down at the car, his vision shaking. Trent was terrified, and he gasped as he saw Melanie. She was still in the car, lying sideways, still sitting in the chair because of her seatbelt. Her eyes were open but they were rolled back in her head, and blood the colour of her hair ran in thin streams down her face. Her beautiful painted lips were open a tiny bit as if she were breathing softly in sleep. Melanie's arms were still at her sides, and he could tell the front of the car was smashed in around her stomach and legs, and the blood was beginning to soak the rest of her shirt.
"Melanie!" Trent started screaming, "Melanie! Look at me! Melanie! Melanie!" His eyes rolled back in his head.
There was complete blackness, until Trent opened his eyes and saw rushing overhead lights and shouting. "Get me a damn IV! Amy, go get Doctor Hart."
The doors banged shut and Trent looked around wildly, trying to move his neck but was restrained. "Wha-what? Where? What? What's going on?"
"Are you awake?" A mans face Trent didn't recognize was looking down at him. Suddenly his eyes were opened wider and a small flashlight was being shown into them.
"He'll make it, doctor." A man then rushed into the room and began to cut off and peel away the remnants of Trent's sweater.
"His name's Trent Grey. Blood type AB, positive. He lost a lot of blood out there." The nurse that flashed the light in his eyes was talking so fast Trent couldn't hear most of what she was saying from the blood rushing in his ears.
"Oh, my God." The doctor was saying as he pulled away the bloody strips of black wool. "Stitches, he's going to need stitches. Hand me that needle." He yelled at the nurse. He threaded the needle. "Give him a shot of morphine, fast, please."
Trent felt something poke at his body. It entered and then withdrew, and poked in another place. Looking down and wanting to wipe the blood from his face, he saw they were giving him shots.
He lay back as he felt the nurse wash a sponge over his bloody torso, and she rung it out in a bucket right near his head. Bloody water splashed and poured from the sponge. "Oh, my God. Oh, my dear sweet Jesus." Trent had no idea if he was saying it out loud or just in his mind. Was he dreaming? What the hell was going on? Where was he?
"More thread." The doctor called, and Trent saw the nurse inject something into the IV now attached to his arm and wrist.
Trent suddenly felt very sleepy. He blinked his eyes and felt the nurse sponge his face down. "He has a cut on the top of his head, Hart."
"Will it need stitching?"
"Yes, maybe a few."
"Shave his head..." Trent blacked out.
**
Trent lay still in the hospital bed. He ran his hand along the nightgown over his torso and felt the bumps and stitches under it. He wanted to touch his head, but refused to.
Suddenly, the door opened, and the man Trent recognized as Doctor Hart walked in. "Ah, good, you're finally awake."
"What time is it?"
"It's almost three in the morning." Dr. Hart pulled a chair over beside Trent's hospital bed. "I'm Doctor William Hart. Do you know what's going on?"
"I-I... I was in a car accident." Trent said, looking down at the IV in his hand.
"Yes. Now, listen, I don't know how to tell you this... Your body is going to have some scarring along your torso and along your upper and lower back. Now, over time, some of these scars may fade. You may be interested in plastic surgery..."
"Where's Melanie?" Trent interrupted.
"The female passanger?" The doctor's eyebrows narrowed, and he looked away from Trent as he removed his glasses and began to clean them with the edge of his white uniform shirt.
"Yes, my fiancee. Where is she? Is she okay? Please, I need to see her." Trent said desperately.
"Trent," the doctor said quietly. "Melanie is dead."
Trent sank back in his pillows and stared at Doctor Hart for a moment, then squeezed his eyes shut. "Stop it, this is a dream. Go away. This is a motherfucking dream." He began to grip the sheets and grit his teeth. "Oh, my God." He opened his eyes. "This isn't a fucking dream. Oh, my fucking... Oh, God." Tears squeezed out of the side of his pain-stricken eyes and Trent squeezed his eyes shut again.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Grey. Is there anyone you would like me to call? Family?"
"I have no one." Trent said quietly, and lay perfectly still, his eyes itching madly, the veins in his wrists and arms bulging and pulsing like mad from his grip on the sheets. "Please, go now. I'm fine."
"Trent, I need to take precautions. If you are very upset and cause excess blowflow, you could pop some of the stitches and cause bleeding..."
"Get out!" Trent screamed at him. "Get out!"
Dr. Hart put his glasses back on and stood up, and nodded at Trent. "Just press that button," he indicated, "If you need anything." He walked out of the room.
Trent let out a wild groan. "Oh, my God. Melanie!" He sobbed her name, and closed his eyes.
And then he was able to roll over.
Trent blinked wildly. "What the hell?"
Shaking his head, Trent opened his eyes but continued to blink. "What the hell?" He repeated, then realized where he was.
His body twisted in the sheets of his bed, Trent looked down at his tear soaked pillow. Realizing where he was, Trent let out a cruel chuckle. "What a bitch life can be." He said to him, and rolled over onto his back. How many times had he had to relive that night in his dreams? Be reminded every time he took his shirt off, took a shower, looked in the mirror.
Flashbacks buzzed in his brain. Melanie's mangled and bloody body. Getting to see her cut up body in the morgue. The funeral, her parents. He was the only one in either car to live, and every day he blamed himself. There had been another couple in the other car. About the same age as he and Melanie had been that night.
They had been only twenty-one. She was way too young to die.
"God, Melanie." Trent whispered, and rolled over once more to look at his clock. It was three in the afternoon.
Trent laughed and held on to the door of the Chrysler. "Babe, watch the road!" He let out another laugh and held on to the top of his head, which was covered by a grey and black beanie. He tucked his head down further inside his thick wool black turtleneck and watched the road and the quick yellow flashes on black asphault highlighted by the headlights.
"We're gonna be late for the movie! Tiffy'll kill us!" Melanie laughed, "Really!" She hit the gas and went straight down the country road, the wind whistling through the open windows, the winter wind whipping through the car. "Plus, no one's out here!"
The countryside was lit only by the headlights of Melanie's car; the black trees silhoutted and porch lights glowed in the far off distance. Trent's cheeks were starting to hurt from his smile and his harsh breathing from the winter air. Exhilaration and excitement was pumping through him.
Melanie slowed down to 90 mph, then sped up to 102. "Woohoo!" She shouted, the whistling of the wind getting louder.
Trent leaned forward and grabbed the dashboard and then turned up the music. Della Reese was singing Come On A My House and it floated on the fast wind. He began to sing with it, and Melanie looked over quickly and smiled at him.
"Come on, come on A my house! I'ma give you a candy! Come on a my house, my house, I'm gonna give you a apple and a plum and a apricotta, too, hey!" Trent reached over and kissed her hand, and wondered how long this road lasted. It seemed to be going on forever.
Suddenly, Melanie snatched her hand back and turned the car. "We have three more miles until the busy road, baby! Three more miles of pure freedom!" She shouted, and handed her hand back.
Trent kissed up and down her hand and inside her palm, his fingers resting on her wrist and feeling her rushing pulse. "Woah!" She shouted again, throwing her head back.
Trent let go of her hand and sang even louder, rolling down the window completely and taking his beanie off. Their hair floated in the wind, her hair shining a brilliant red gold in the dim light.
Melanie looked over and smiled at him, her eyes full of love, and since she didn't suspect anything, she looked at him longer than she should have.
There was a startling blare of horns and screams, and then the sound of smashing glass and twisting metal as Melanie let out a scream that was cut off as the car jammed in around her.
Trent's body twisted, going through the windshield. He blocked his face and head with his arms, but he felt the glass shred the skin on his chest, stomach, and back. He felt something hot and sticky ooze all over his shirt, and he lay still the minute he touched the freezing road. He lay still for a moment, before his body began to shake. He had no idea his face had gone terribly white, and the top of his skull was cut open. He shook violently, and he reached down as best as he could to make sure he was okay.
"I-I-I'm just s-s-scared." He mummbled to himself, and touched his shredded sweater. Blood spilled from his split lip and a knick on his chin and poured down his face. Bringing his hands back up, he could see from the sideways lights of the twisted and broken car his hands were soaked in blood.
"Oh, shit." He began to throw up, his body thriving and twisting and sweat rolled down him forehead. "Fuck."
He looked down at the car, his vision shaking. Trent was terrified, and he gasped as he saw Melanie. She was still in the car, lying sideways, still sitting in the chair because of her seatbelt. Her eyes were open but they were rolled back in her head, and blood the colour of her hair ran in thin streams down her face. Her beautiful painted lips were open a tiny bit as if she were breathing softly in sleep. Melanie's arms were still at her sides, and he could tell the front of the car was smashed in around her stomach and legs, and the blood was beginning to soak the rest of her shirt.
"Melanie!" Trent started screaming, "Melanie! Look at me! Melanie! Melanie!" His eyes rolled back in his head.
There was complete blackness, until Trent opened his eyes and saw rushing overhead lights and shouting. "Get me a damn IV! Amy, go get Doctor Hart."
The doors banged shut and Trent looked around wildly, trying to move his neck but was restrained. "Wha-what? Where? What? What's going on?"
"Are you awake?" A mans face Trent didn't recognize was looking down at him. Suddenly his eyes were opened wider and a small flashlight was being shown into them.
"He'll make it, doctor." A man then rushed into the room and began to cut off and peel away the remnants of Trent's sweater.
"His name's Trent Grey. Blood type AB, positive. He lost a lot of blood out there." The nurse that flashed the light in his eyes was talking so fast Trent couldn't hear most of what she was saying from the blood rushing in his ears.
"Oh, my God." The doctor was saying as he pulled away the bloody strips of black wool. "Stitches, he's going to need stitches. Hand me that needle." He yelled at the nurse. He threaded the needle. "Give him a shot of morphine, fast, please."
Trent felt something poke at his body. It entered and then withdrew, and poked in another place. Looking down and wanting to wipe the blood from his face, he saw they were giving him shots.
He lay back as he felt the nurse wash a sponge over his bloody torso, and she rung it out in a bucket right near his head. Bloody water splashed and poured from the sponge. "Oh, my God. Oh, my dear sweet Jesus." Trent had no idea if he was saying it out loud or just in his mind. Was he dreaming? What the hell was going on? Where was he?
"More thread." The doctor called, and Trent saw the nurse inject something into the IV now attached to his arm and wrist.
Trent suddenly felt very sleepy. He blinked his eyes and felt the nurse sponge his face down. "He has a cut on the top of his head, Hart."
"Will it need stitching?"
"Yes, maybe a few."
"Shave his head..." Trent blacked out.
**
Trent lay still in the hospital bed. He ran his hand along the nightgown over his torso and felt the bumps and stitches under it. He wanted to touch his head, but refused to.
Suddenly, the door opened, and the man Trent recognized as Doctor Hart walked in. "Ah, good, you're finally awake."
"What time is it?"
"It's almost three in the morning." Dr. Hart pulled a chair over beside Trent's hospital bed. "I'm Doctor William Hart. Do you know what's going on?"
"I-I... I was in a car accident." Trent said, looking down at the IV in his hand.
"Yes. Now, listen, I don't know how to tell you this... Your body is going to have some scarring along your torso and along your upper and lower back. Now, over time, some of these scars may fade. You may be interested in plastic surgery..."
"Where's Melanie?" Trent interrupted.
"The female passanger?" The doctor's eyebrows narrowed, and he looked away from Trent as he removed his glasses and began to clean them with the edge of his white uniform shirt.
"Yes, my fiancee. Where is she? Is she okay? Please, I need to see her." Trent said desperately.
"Trent," the doctor said quietly. "Melanie is dead."
Trent sank back in his pillows and stared at Doctor Hart for a moment, then squeezed his eyes shut. "Stop it, this is a dream. Go away. This is a motherfucking dream." He began to grip the sheets and grit his teeth. "Oh, my God." He opened his eyes. "This isn't a fucking dream. Oh, my fucking... Oh, God." Tears squeezed out of the side of his pain-stricken eyes and Trent squeezed his eyes shut again.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Grey. Is there anyone you would like me to call? Family?"
"I have no one." Trent said quietly, and lay perfectly still, his eyes itching madly, the veins in his wrists and arms bulging and pulsing like mad from his grip on the sheets. "Please, go now. I'm fine."
"Trent, I need to take precautions. If you are very upset and cause excess blowflow, you could pop some of the stitches and cause bleeding..."
"Get out!" Trent screamed at him. "Get out!"
Dr. Hart put his glasses back on and stood up, and nodded at Trent. "Just press that button," he indicated, "If you need anything." He walked out of the room.
Trent let out a wild groan. "Oh, my God. Melanie!" He sobbed her name, and closed his eyes.
And then he was able to roll over.
Trent blinked wildly. "What the hell?"
Shaking his head, Trent opened his eyes but continued to blink. "What the hell?" He repeated, then realized where he was.
His body twisted in the sheets of his bed, Trent looked down at his tear soaked pillow. Realizing where he was, Trent let out a cruel chuckle. "What a bitch life can be." He said to him, and rolled over onto his back. How many times had he had to relive that night in his dreams? Be reminded every time he took his shirt off, took a shower, looked in the mirror.
Flashbacks buzzed in his brain. Melanie's mangled and bloody body. Getting to see her cut up body in the morgue. The funeral, her parents. He was the only one in either car to live, and every day he blamed himself. There had been another couple in the other car. About the same age as he and Melanie had been that night.
They had been only twenty-one. She was way too young to die.
"God, Melanie." Trent whispered, and rolled over once more to look at his clock. It was three in the afternoon.
