Starstruck (Heartstrings Duet #1)

34. requiem

[ 34 ]

REQUIEM

LENNON

“LIKE A MAN POSSESSED” BY THE GET UP KIDS

A kaleidoscope of red and blue flashing lights. The sound of sirens wailing in the distance. The distinct smell of gasoline wafting through the air.

My senses are in overdrive as I open my eyes, and my head is throbbing. Taking in my surroundings, I see a fire engine blocking an intersection on my left, while some police officers corral the crowd gathered to watch the show. People have their phones out recording the scene, looks of shock crossing everyone’s face.

What the hell happened?

I glance around, trying to clear the fog filling my mind.

That’s when I look to my right—finding my mother with a piece of glass sticking out of her chest and my father in the back, blood streaming down his head, unconscious.

My breath catches.

Car accident.

“Oh, my god,” I sob. I quickly move to grab something, anything, that I can use to hold pressure on my mom’s chest with one hand while scrambling to unbuckle my seatbelt with the other, wincing as I do. “No, no, no. Come on!”

There’s nothing in reach, my seatbelt is stuck, and based on the sharp pain that shoots up to my shoulder when I move, I’m guessing my arm is broken.

“Mom, wake up!” I shake her firmly, careful not to bother the glass.

She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake.

“Dad. Daddy, please,” I cry as I reach over my seat as far as I can to tap him, too, but nothing.

We’re going to die in here.

“Someone, please help me!” I scream, watching through tear-filled eyes as first responders begin to arrive on scene. I rush to open my door to get someone’s attention, but it won’t budge.

“Someone, please!” I bang on the door as hard as I can, hoping, praying, waiting for someone to hear me. “I need help!”

The sound of glass shattering from behind me causes me to startle, and then someone says, “Ma’am, stay calm. We’re going to get you out of here.”

I look back to see one of the firefighters through the window beside my dad.

“Please, h-help,” I beg.

“We are, ma’am. Are you injured?”

“M-my arm. I think it’s br-broken. My seatbelt is stuck. It h-hurts to breathe. But my parents—” The words rush out of me as if he can’t see them.

“I know, ma’am. What’s your name? Is it just you three in the car?”

“Lennon, y-yes. Please h-help them.”

“Lennon, I’m going to come around to get you out first while the rest of my team works on prying these doors open to help your parents, okay?”

I nod, more tears welling in my eyes. He leaves, and I turn to look back out the shattered front windshield. I watch as more firefighters pull the other driver out of their window just as the car begins to catch fire. They set the man on his feet while paramedics rush over to check him out. The fact that he’s standing, alert, and talking seems like a good sign to me.

Or at least better than my parents.

“Okay, Lennon,” the firefighter yells. “I’m going to use this tool to pry open your door so I can get to you, alright?”

I nod, pulling my body away from the door to protect myself.

A minute later, the door is open and the firefighter is cutting through my seatbelt. It loosens, and although it hurts, I feel like I can breathe again.

“Hi, Lennon. I’m Jacob,” he says once I’m free.

Smiling softly, he moves to the side to make room as a paramedic rushes over to me, giving me a quick once-over and wrapping a C-collar around my neck.

“Do you think you can walk?” she asks.

“Yes, I-I think so.” I steadily move to get out of the vehicle, the EMT on one side of me and Jacob on the other. Once I’m out, Jacob holds me up as I turn back to see firefighters prying open the doors on the other side to get to my parents. “Are they going to be o-okay?”

It’s a stupid question, I know. He doesn’t know. But I need someone to give me some hope because all I have right now is worry.

“I’m not sure, but I hope so. Come this way and we’ll get you set up in an ambulance. Your parents will each be put in one, too, and they’ll take you all to Mount Sinai Hospital. The doctors will be able to answer your questions better than I can, okay?”

I nod, looking back at him. He looks to be about my age, maybe a few years older. He’s tall, maybe six-foot-one, and he has bright-blue eyes. He looks kind. “Thank you, Jacob,” I tell him as he leads me to the nearest ambulance.

“Just doing my job, Lennon.” He smiles sadly back at me.

Jacob leaves me with the paramedics, and I watch from the back of the ambulance as my parents are removed from my smashed up car, each of them loaded onto a stretcher. Another tear falls, and I bite the inside of my cheek, eyes scanning the scene, trying to remember what happened.

I catch sight of the other driver near another ambulance across the intersection as a cop approaches him. Next thing I know, the cop is holding something up and the driver is blowing into what I’m sure can only be a breathalyzer.

Oh. My. God.

“Are you okay, miss?” one of the paramedics asks, noticing my rise in heart rate on the cardiac monitor I’m hooked up to.

“No. I don’t think I am.”

“brOKEN” BY LIFEHOUSE

I startle awake, shooting up in bed. Tears stream down my face as my chest rises and falls. My breathing picks up, the image of my mom bleeding out next to me and my dad unconscious in the backseat stuck in my mind. I press my palms into my eyes, hoping to force the memory away, but it doesn’t budge.

Gripping the sheets on either side of me, I squeeze my eyes shut and bite the inside of my cheek, trying to focus on the pain.

Just breathe, Lennon. You’re okay. You’re alive.

I shakily breathe in, keeping my eyes glued shut. I may be alive, but my parents aren’t.

I exhale slowly, trying to calm my breathing as I press two fingers to the pulse point on my wrist. My heart rate is erratic, and I can’t quite catch my breath as my tears fall faster than I can keep up with them.

I reach for my phone on my bedside table. Through blurred vision, I search for the contact I’m looking for—the only person I want to talk to right now—and press call, holding the phone up to my ear.

My leg shakes as I listen to the ringing. It continues a few times before I hear a click, getting the voicemail. I shouldn’t be surprised—it is nearing four in the morning.

I leave a brief message, stuttering through my tears. Then I hang up and drop my phone on the bed beside me as a sob racks my chest.

I scramble out of bed toward my bathroom. I turn on the tap and splash cold water on my face in an attempt to force my temperature back to normal. Tears continue streaming down my face, my breathing staggered as I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

After the accident, I was having nightmares almost every night. Usually some variation of the accident, sometimes my parents were there and alive, other times it was just me in the car. But I haven’t had one in months, and none of them were ever as vivid or real as this one.

Because this one wasn’t just a nightmare—it was a memory.

It was the memory.

I thought at that moment that we were all going to die. If only I’d known then that I’d be forced to grieve the loss of both my parents instead.

Dying would’ve been less painful than losing them has been.

I thought I was doing better. I still miss them, of course—I will for the rest of my life, and I do still feel like I’m to blame for the role I played in the accident. But it hasn’t been a constant thought in my mind. I haven’t been thinking about the fact that they’re gone, instead trying to focus on all the ways they’re still with me.

But I guess God or the universe or whoever the hell is controlling my life doesn’t want me to forget. Not that I ever could. That day changed my life, and it will stay with me until the day I die. I will forever wish it had been me who died instead of them, but I’ve also come to realize beating myself up over something that was out of my control doesn’t do anybody any good.

Except here I am, being tortured with the memory of the accident as I’ve finally started to move on.

I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that simple.

Once my breathing slows slightly, I make my way back to my room, climbing into bed. I curl up on my side, folding into myself as my tears stain my pillowcase, my mind running wild with images of my parents.

Talking with Dylan and Paige yesterday must have triggered something in my mind. Something that caused the memory of the accident to replay over and over.

Haunting me.

Tormenting me.

Reminding me of just how much I’ve lost.

Convincing me once again that I’m the reason they’re dead.

No matter how much I distract myself, or how many times people tell me otherwise, that feeling has never really gone away. I can numb it, I can pretend like it isn’t there, but no matter what I do, nothing will ever fully make me stop blaming myself.

I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force myself to sleep in hopes it will shut my mind off for at least a little while.

But sleep never comes.