May [H.S]

09

Magnolia

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Turning in flagitious circles, my stomach flips, tumbling in an everlasting cycle. Not even the sudden realization of my falling could help me up. Sinking deeper into the turbulent puddle of quicksand, I stare at my feet being sucked into the grit, rising and squeezing my abdomen. As I see it there's no escape and the rustling alarms grow louder, matching the roar of the flames. I'm bound in place, seeing the horror unfold, crisping in chary destruction.

"Would you slow the hell down?!" She shouts from behind me, the ring of my eardrum is whiplashed, swearing I can still hear the echo of bucking bullets. Misread as the swaying hum of the car, an old purring engine under the leather coddling me. It's not virtually enough, not enough to swaddle, to hide in.

My hands clutch to the grab handle on the roof of the car as I scan the road ahead with wide eyes. Blurry vision draws in and out, admiring the blue-tint in the surrounding. I know I'm trembling and there's nothing to do to stop it, my body has taken over my rationale. I'm in shock.

"She's already as fucking scared as is it." Joey curses, smacking the back of his seat. Daring the mental danger, I continue to watch Luke swerve in and out of traffic, claiming the scarce, windy roads as his own. The cliff sides don't deter the rebellious speed, merely an encouraging tactic.

He's never like this, never erratically running his hands through his hair, quivering his bloody knuckles on the wheel in a tight grip. Driving with Luke was like driving with an old person, cautious and slow, never once too rushed. But now, it seemed the balance had been tipped off, he didn't acknowledge the danger he's putting us in. Amongst the demons, the thought wouldn't cross his mind.

Muttering nonsense to himself he presses the gas, "Well she shouldn't have fucking wandered off, and you shouldn't have been thinking with your dick rather than keeping an eye on her!" He fires back, remaining eye contact with Joey for too long before he darts back to the road.

"This was such a fucking mistake and I knew it. I fucking told you Bells, you just have to run your goddamn mouth and I'm stupid enough to fucking listen!" Luke's voice is broken, clearly from shouting, from what happened. He's ranting to himself, neither of us is nearly lucid enough to soak it in.

After tonight I feel like an overflowing sponge at the bottom of a cold porcelain sink. Ragged and rundown.

The shying bits of dry blood on his knuckles are familiar, hiding along the veins. Fisted fingers, nearly white with a lack of blood flow. Dare I say more comforting than the azure blue of his eyes knowing I'd drown in the abundance of the sea.

"I thought— I thought something happened to you, you could have been fucking shot for all I knew." His voice goes soft as he glances over to me, catching the lingering bit of faintness in the grey pale of my face. Overwhelmed in unsettlement, he looks as though he's going to cry, the verge of angry and scared shitless.

Not for himself— but me— the perturbing ideas scrambling his head.

I can't even give a remorseful apology or reciprocate the worry in his eyes. I'm a wall, bricked in place. Stuck here to relive the last forty-five minutes over and over, the sound of screams, the smell of gunpowder, and blood. So much blood, spilling to my feet. It's everywhere, escaping is a notion of futility.

Bodies lying lifelessly on the concrete, the reflection of uncontained flames flickering amongst them.

"I'm gonna be sick," I mumble under my breath, wandering my shaky fingertips to the steel of the door. Smacking my hand over my face I fling the door open in the middle of traffic. Unleashing the sickness from within, I stare at the moving concrete, tuning out Luke and Joey's reprimanding clamor.