𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐃 │ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 ¹ [✔]

[54]: the power of three

You do ridiculous things when you're drunk. You do amazing things. Terrible things.

Horrendous things.

And he was merely a boy of sixteen, blinking the snow from his eyelashes. The poisonous liquid on his tongue being the cause of his erratic legs. He swerved from left to right, exiting his house. The swank white-bricked house, that had a frozen over pool sitting in the back.

It was so cold...

The boy travelled down his driveway, spotting the luxurious and sleek black car, and it was all too tempting for him. It was like a dark siren, singing him towards trouble. To the depths of more booze and treacherous travels.

His slender body slid into the seat of the car, and it started to roll even before he got both his legs into the car. He quickly shut it, drool dripping onto his faded jeans. He wiped at it blindly, fumbling with the keys to start the engine.

Soon enough, he was travelling down a white road, the snow beating at the windows. The darkness behind every snowflake was blurred in his eyes, by alcohol and tears.

He didn't want to care. He didn't want to be so soft.

This is what made him regret finding the liquor cabinet key, in the little Celtic cup his father kept in the glass cupboard. The cup where his dad used to stash joints and DS game cards when he lost them.

It was all to make him learn a lesson; don't lose it.

The speed at which he was driving was all too real. Travelling past farms and fields, unable to see the yellow flowers that gathered at each post of each fence. He was hitting speeds no one should in that type of neighbourhood. It was a place where everything was kept inside, and everything was nobody's business.

He was too drunk to notice the oncoming car, the one which held two dentists driving towards a place that held a gift. It only seemed like a dark cloud passing over him, rather than something that could potentially kill him in one swift blow.

His car collided with theirs, and the boy held his breath as the once sleek car tumbled and turned, flipping over. Glass shattered, sending shards past his cheeks and arms. Metal bent, everything went entirely wrong in almost too short a time.

The noise was like thunder cracking, splitting the air with light getting destroyed.

He couldn't see it all happening clearly, the coldness seeping into the car, the alcohol still blurring his vision, the tears being sucked up because sometimes when you're really scared there's no time to cry.

There's only time to be scared.

When the boy of sixteen awoke with a pain in his neck, and glass in his arms, he coughed and spluttered. He moved his arms to crawl from the wreckage. The ice on the concrete being the only sense of relief for his gashes.

His could breath raised into the air, chugging like a train running on empty. Desperate. Scared. Confused.

All he could think about was how much his dad would be disappointed with him. How much his dad would hate him for smashing up his car. How much his dad would shout. How his dad would want to kill him.

And then he saw it; the other car.

The boy clutched his arms with numb fingers as he approached it, taking careful steps. His muscles trembled in the cold wind.

Violet Van Allen was still in the passenger seat, but a large splintered piece of wood had struck itself through the window and right through her chest.