And her body in my arms in the ER.Barely warm, barely alive.
My hands shake and my chest locks up.Now my fucking brain starts replaying the worst night of my life like someone’s jamming fast-forward and rewind at the same time.This place feels cursed, like the devil marked it and me both.
“It’s almost been a year to the day,” Nora says quietly.Her voice slices straight through my spiral.
She still won’t look at me.
“Remember when I asked if you believe in coincidences?”
I nod because right now talking feels impossible.
“What do you think about chance?”
I drag in a breath but my lungs don’t feel big enough.
“Chance?”I echo.“I think it’s just another word for things we don’t understand yet.”
She hums like she’s weighing that.
“Maybe chance isn’t random,” she murmurs.“Maybe it’s just inevitable.Like gravity, things fall.We just pretend we’re in control of the direction.”
My heart is pounding so loud I’m shocked she can’t hear it.None of this makes sense, everything feels like warning signs and quicksand.
“Nora.”My voice cracks.“Why’d you bring me here?”
She keeps staring at the asphalt like she’s afraid if she looks at me, she’ll break whatever fragile air exists between us.
“I know who it was,” she whispers.“The drunk driver who hit me.”
Something in my chest lurches—like my heart forgets how to beat.My stomach drops straight through the fucking earth.
“No,” I breathe.“No—please?—”
But she finally lifts her eyes to mine.
And the second our gazes lock— I know.
I know who she’s about to say.I know the shape of the pain behind her eyes.I know the truth she’s about to hand me, and I swear the world pauses, waiting for the sound of it.
“It was Scott.”
The name hits like a gunshot.
Sharp.Final.Fatal.
The whole world tilts— cracking down the middle, splitting open beneath my feet, collapsing into something dark and violent.
Scott.
The man I already hate with every fucking cell I have left.He took my childhood, my sanity, my brother?—
and now this.He almost killed her then walked away and left her here bleeding and alone to die.
Something primal detonates inside me—slow at first, a spark catching on dry bone, then spreading fast, furious, unstoppable.
My vision burns at the edges.My hands curl into fists without permission.I feel myself leaning forward like my body’s trying to find something to destroy.The rage is a fuse lit deep in my ribcage—hissing, glowing, traveling straight toward the part of me that’s still human, ready to blow it apart.
The things I want to do to him?They’re vivid, violent.Detailed enough to scare even me.
