I felt like I might throw up. We merged onto the highway. My head was careening—I hated myself, hated her,
thought she was right and wrong, thought I deserved it and didn’t. “You think it’s easy for me?”
“I don’t mean—” I turned to her. “STOP TALKING. Jesus Christ, you haven’t shut up in ten years.
I’m sorry it’s not fun hanging out with me because I’m stuck in my head so much,
but imagine being actually stuck inside my head with no way out, with no way to ever take a break from it, because that’s my life.
To use Mychal’s clever little analogy, imagine eating NOTHING BUT mustard, being stuck with mustard ALL THE TIME
and if you hate me so much then stop asking me to—” “HOLMESY!” she shouted, but too late.
I looked up only in time to see that I’d kept accelerating while the traffic had slowed.
I couldn’t even get my foot to the brake before we slammed into the SUV in front of us.
A moment later, something slammed into us from behind. Tires screeching. Honking. Another crash, this one smaller. Then silence.
I was trying to catch my breath, but I couldn’t, because every breath hurt.
I swore, but it just came out as ahhhhggg. I reached for the door only to realize my seat belt was still on.
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