She was walking (too early, I told her it was too early!).
A car came onto the sidewalk (why? Drunk driver? Shift worker asleep at the wheel?).
It struck her (where? Her legs? Her back? Did it run her over? Did she go flying? Oh god, how long was she lying there on the road, did people see her, did they rush over to help?).
She was taken to the hospital (which hospital? What unit? What injuries does she have?).
Is she going to be okay? She has to be okay.
But Wolf doesn’t know that much, and even though he keeps reaching over to squeeze my thigh, my arm, my knee, telling me not to worry, I’m already in this other place, vibrating on a whole new frequency.
My whole fucking world is so close to shattering I want to scream.
We hit the 101 when our cell phones briefly get reception. Texts from Lenore come through, as well as ones from my mom. Sent yesterday, but still the sight of her name in my phone makes me burst into tears.
“Should I pull over?” Wolf asks as his phone keeps beeping with notifications.
I shake my head, tears spilling everywhere. “No, no I’m fine.”
But I’m not fine. How can anyone be fine in this situation? I feel so sick I might throw up right here.
Through blurred vision I look through the texts and then pause when I see the last text my mom sent me.
Hey sweetie. I don’t know if you’re getting my texts but I just wanted you to know that I love you so much and I’m worried about you. I don’t know why, it’s just a feeling I had. I keep thinking we left things in a bad way, and that maybe you’re mad at me for the things I told you about Wolf and moving on. I think it’s good that you’re there together and I really hope it helps you. I’m there for you no matter what you choose. I love you so much sweetie. Please respond if you can, so I know you’re okay.
The phone falls out of my hand and my eyes pinch shut, a guttural sob roaring through me.
“What if she’s not okay?” I cry out. “What if she’s not okay?”
I feel the Mustang slow but all I hear is my own heart beating in my ears, the ragged, shallow breaths as I try to take in air, on the verge of hyperventilating. I’m here in this car, so far away from my mother, and she’s in the hospital and I don’t know if she’s going to be okay (she has to be okay, she has to be okay). Hit by a car? What the fuck? How does that even happen? Out of all the things I feared, vampires and witches and ghosts and she’s hit by a fucking car as she’s walking to her peaceful spot in the morning? What the FUCK?
I don’t even realize that Wolf has pulled the car over to the side of the highway until he’s unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning across the console, wrapping his arms around me. He holds me tight, so tight, and I need him to, I need him to keep holding me because I’m afraid I’m going to slip away into nothing if he doesn’t.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs into me. “I got you.”
I nod, my tears and snot getting all over his shirt, but I’m too tired to care. I don’t care about anything right now except getting to my mother.
“I’m fine,” I tell him after a moment. “We just need to keep driving. Please. I need to see her.”
He nods, kisses my forehead in a gesture that would have made me melt had I not already been dissolved, and then he starts the car, pulling it back onto the highway.
The next hour passes in a blur. I try to calm my heart, try to tell myself everything is alright. And then Solon’s name flashes on my cell, ringing.
I stare at it, shaking my head. I can’t answer it. I can’t answer it. What if it’s bad news? What if she’s dead? Oh god, oh god.
“Amethyst,” Wolf says gently. He nods at the phone.
I press my lips together until they hurt, then I answer it.
“Hello?” I say, my voice shaking.
“Amethyst,” Solon says gravely. “I’m so sorry.”
At that I whimper and I gasp because I don’t know what he’s apologizing for.
“I’m at the hospital. I’ve just been in to see the doctor. They won’t let me see her,” he continues, my heart slowing just a bit, because that means she’s still alive. “She’s in a coma.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling stupid, foreign, my tone dull. “Like…people come out of comas, right?” I don’t even know what I’m saying, if it makes sense, I just need things to be okay.
“She has some internal bleeding in her brain, it was a hard hit.” He keeps talking but I find myself weaving in and out of attention. I’m already removing myself from his words, from the situation.