Title: Cars

Pairing: None

Word Count: 412

Summary: Haruhi hates cars, or vehicles of any kind. Her second phobia, one she covered up with a smile and nails digging into the palms of her hands. I thought it was time for something angsty :) (and possibly rubbish)

'Are you sure you're ok Haruhi?'

'I'm fine,' was the snappy answer to the same monotonous question she had heard so many times before. She gave the same repetitive answer every time. She felt a little guilty knowing that they were only worried and the dejected look she gained from the twins nearly made her flinch. Instead she clenched her fists a little tighter. She could feel her skin splitting under her nails.

Good, She thought, focus on that instead.

But then she caught the all-seeing stare of Kyouya Otori, when she caught his eye he looked straight back at her with an expression like he knew everything. It infuriated her.

He. Knew. Nothing.

She still made an effort to look more normal, loosening her fists and attempting a smile to reassure the others who were all shooting her confused looks. As her nails left her skin she could feel the warm blood trickling out from her hands then the car hit a small bump in the road, Haruhi jumped and her knuckles turned white again.

She could still remember the jolt and the other car slammed into theirs, when her small head had smashed painfully into the window. The pain only lasted for a moment though, and then nothing.

The next memory she had was opening her eyes to a wreck of metal, part of a lamppost sticking through the broken car window she was leaning on, she slowly lifted her head trying to overcome the nausea. The sound of broken glass falling when she moved sounded strangely loud in the silence.

'Mom?' she had whispered, when there was no reply the silence just seemed to get louder. She tried to move more but her legs were stuck in the tangle on metal that used to be her mother's car. 'Mommy, are you ok?' she tried again, her teeth chattering.

Then she turned her head to the driver's seat, her mother watched her but didn't speak. The five-year-old version of Haruhi had not screamed but only reached out an arm and stroked the bloody hair from her mother's face and closed the woman's eyes.

The memory of the blood, the bones, the pain, it all made Haruhi feel physically ill.

But she would continue to say she was fine, she would hope the hosts would pretend not to see the blood leaking from her palms to the floor.

She didn't want their pity or shocked faces.

She only wanted to forget.