“You get the car. I’ll get the truck,” Warren tells me, his calm voice a stark contrast to the pounding happening in my chest.
Ambulance sirens are distant, and I can’t tell how far away they are as I approach the driver’s side door of the wrecked car, its familiarity threatening to bring my lunch back up.
Then I see the brown hair, tangled and matted with blood.
“I can’t get her out,” a man yells, his voice frantic.
“Sir, step aside,” I somehow manage.
Graduation. Kids going home for summer break.
Warren’s words echo in my head as I lean into the vehicle to assess the situation.
A shattered windshield. A crumpled dash. No seatbelt. A broken girl.
“I’m a college student. Elementary education.”
That’s what she told me that night. I can hear the words as if Megan is standing right beside me.
“Ma’am,” I say, my voice lower than it should be, too filled with emotion for the job that’s expected of me. “Can you hear me?”
Her face tilts the slightest bit, but her gorgeous hazel eyes don’t open.
“Megan,” I snap a little louder. “Open your eyes, baby. Let me know you’re going to be okay.”
I clasp her hands in mine as her eyes flutter weakly. The shadows in the car are too dark for me to see them clearly, but I know what they look like. I memorized them that night.
The cut on her face seems superficial, although it’s bleeding. Keeping a hold of her hand, I scan down her body to assess for other injuries. The steering wheel pressed to her chest and the spider-webbed windshield are both concerning, but a ragged breath draws my eyes back to her face.
“Help me,” she gasps.
“I’m here. We’re going to get you out of here.”
The minuscule amount of grasp she had on my hand disappears, and the tension in her body eases. Her flushed skin turns ashen so quickly it’s as if someone waved a wand from her hairline to her neck, taking all her coloring along with it.
She’s gone.
This isn’t the first fatality accident scene I’ve responded to. Objectively, I know she’s dead.
I know I’ll never speak to her again.
I know I’m going to have to notify her family of their loss.
I know she’ll never be a teacher.
I know I’ll never get to brush my mouth against hers, again.
I know I’ll regret not getting her number that night, but at the time, I didn’t realize just how obsessed with her I’d become, how she’d manage to take over my thoughts.
I know all of this, but accepting it seems like an impossibility.
“Move.” I’m shoved out of the way, seconds from clocking some asshole in the face when I realize it’s the paramedics finally arriving to help.
In stunned shock, I stand to the side watching as they take vitals, watching as one guy shakes his head with a frown, watching as they pull a blanket out and drape the side of her car with it.
“O’Neil! A little help?”
Warren is standing in front of a frowning man of about fifty, but all that registers is his flailing arms as he points at his truck. My feet move on their own, carrying me toward my training officer and the man involved in the accident. His face is bleeding, a cut on his forehead leaving streaks of red down his pale, ashen cheek. Bloodshot blue eyes dart all over the place as if he can’t seem to focus on any one thing.
“The truck will be towed,” Warren is explaining as I join them.
“It’s fine to drive. I’m not paying towing and impound fees.” I hear the words, but it’s the alcohol on his breath that tells me all I need to know.
“You’re going to jail,” Warren says. “You caused this accident.”
“A fucking fender bender,” the man counters. “I have fucking insurance.”
“She’s dead,” I mumble. “She’s fucking dead!”
Most people claim they black out when they go into a rage, that they just snap and don’t realize what they’re doing.
That isn’t the case for me.
When I charge this piece of shit, I feel the power in my legs moving me forward. I feel the scratch of his shirt under one palm and the slam of my knuckles against his face. I feel the spittle leaving his mouth and landing on my cheek when I make impact. I feel his boots skid against mine as he goes down. I feel the heave of his chest when we both land on the ground. I feel each blow to his face