I stumbled out of my car, hitting the airbag, the chair, and the hard road. I panted like a madman, as I fiddled with my pocket, scavenging for my phone. It rang once. Twice. Third - that's the lucky time. Lucky... as if...
"Nine-one-one operator. What is your emergency?" her voice was even, and I barely heard her over the clattering around. I rose to my feet, becoming dizzy with the sudden movement. I shook my head, shutting my eyes and trying to process everything. I opened them and tried to find my words as I looked around. I blabbered whatever I could.
"I... there's a lot of blood... I... need help..." I looked back and saw her – eyes closed, lips parted, a cut just above the left eyebrow. Something I would never forget. The airbag had left a stamp bruise on her right cheek.
"Where are you?" The operator's even tone interrupted my train of thought.
"Willow Street." People were staring; some came close. A few went to her, others to-
"What is your name?" Why do you care? How is that relevant right now?
"Uh... Clay... Clayton Wilder..." I succumbed. I felt faint. There sure was a lot of blood.
"Don't hang up. Help is on the way." A pause, "Are you ok? Were you hurt?" I couldn't think straight as I held the phone in my stained hands. I shook my head.
"I... I'm not hurt..." I really wish I were though...
"How old are you?" what is this... 20 questions?
"Twenty-three... Please... you have to hurry..." I panted, as I looked around; "You have to understand it was an accident..." noisy murmurs attracted my attention, and my mouth hung open as I glanced over faces: judgmental faces that burned my damaged pride and attacked my shattered ego. And broke my broken heart.
"Help is on the way. Don't hang up."
"I won't..." and I didn't. People were crowding to get a better look at the monkey show. And then I see a woman pushing through the crowd, tears littering her entire face. She screamed and screeched and cried and fell to the floor beside-
The sirens overwhelmed my ears as I shut my eyes and hoped to wake up...
Yet I never did...
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Intoxicated: Clayton Wilder
FantasyLove, Lust, and Longing for the Past - Clayton Wilder thought he'd lost it all the moment he'd killed a boy with his car. He thought he'd hit rock bottom; but, boy, was he wrong! He had so much more to lose: for example, his relationship wit...
