Only you can save me (A Paul Walker fanfiction)

Chapter Thirteen: 30th November 2013

"Oh no ... "

There were people in that thing that had once resembled a car. I didn't think twice but ran towards the flames. I saw across the street that people had their mobile phones out, so someone was calling someone for help, thank god. I knew I could do things for the people no one else could so I hurried towards the wreckage. Two people, the driver and a passenger who was lying on his side against the car seat. Oh no, oh god please no, no, don't let this be real. 

But it was real. Paul was the passenger, lying in the inferno. I could barely see him through the smoke and the fire but I knew it was him. My dread dragon had tried to warn me and I had come too late. Not too late I told myself. I couldn't be too late yet. I pulled on the door (of another part of the car that had become pliable, I still don't know and I couldn't care less what it was) but let go almost immediately, screaming in pain as ugly red burns seared across my palm. The fire was too hot for my powers to keep me safe and for a fraction of a second I wavered. I thought about getting a blanket and dousing it in water somehow to protect me. But then I looked back at the car, there simply was no time for anything like that. Steeling myself I pulled the car open further, coughing as the smoke swirled around me by my movements. Please live I prayed, please don't let me be too late.

Crawling into the car was like stepping into a furnace. Flames were licking the sides and the dashboard and smoke swirled around in the low space, almost making me throw up. My eyes watered from the smoke and I had a hard time getting any leverage on Pauls body. In the end I just yanked his arm and leg to get him out, not a very dignified solution but at least it was a semi effective one. I dragged him onto the small sand slope and shook him. I knew I had to feel for a pulse or do something more medically effective, but I was scared, so scared. I started crying and begging him to wake up, to breathe, anything, my tears that fell on him making track marks in the soot on his face. 

And then he breathed, a small whimper of pain but loud enough to let me know he was still here. I laughed and cried and basically, I think I was a mess. It seemed like years had gone by but in reality they were more likely just seconds. I ran back to the inferno car to see if the driver could be gotten out, but I was too late for him. I said sorry to him and got back out, my arms and hands bright red and pulsating with pain, and a burn mark on my forehead. Otherwise I seemed to be ok. I hurried back to Paul and tried whatever I could to help him with his breathing. I held his head in my lap and just stroked his hair, still crying and telling him things would be ok. 

I have no idea how long I sat there until the wailing of a siren broke my trance. I doubted for one second, that one split second when things could have gone either way that haunts me to this day. Not a day goes by that I don't wish I could take back that one second of my life. I didn't know how to explain my presence, my burns, anything. I was scared and I told myself he was in good hands, he was out and breathing, he would be fine. I sat up and swiftly kissed him, whispered I'll see you soon in his ear.

And ran away before anyone could see me ... 

I had anticipated that there would be a news report about the crash, but not what it said. 

"Paul Walker one of the stars of the enormously popular Fast and the Furious movies, dead in a car crash ..."

My insides turned to glass it seemed. He can't be, he couldn't be ... I wanted to scream at the TV, tell them I had got him out of the car, he was ok. HE WAS OK how could he be ... my mind recoiled from that horrible word in relation to Paul. Almost immediately the thought that would be on my mind to this day came forward: I should have stayed. I should have stayed with him. I should have been there. 

My breathing had become shallow, a few tears fell silently. I couldn't show anything because my husband and  his idiot brother were in the room with me. I had officially not even been a fan of Pauls, so now I couldn't cry and fall apart at his death, even if inside that was exactly what I was doing. My world had changed and it would never be right again, and I could never show it. Without Paul in my life, fighting for a different future had no purpose. I don't know how I got through the day and evening. I had no idea how to get through life after this, how to get through the next minute knowing he wasn't there. I would never see him again, never feel him do the hand thing, never tease him anymore. My world seemed pitch black.

My husband insisted on making love to me that night. He had sensed I was out of sorts and cranky but he didn't know or cared why. He thought a good dose of "love" would sort me out. I wanted to scream, but in the end just let him do whatever, as usual, waiting till he was done, occasionally wincing as what he did was painful. Then I waited for him to drift off to sleep, satisfied and unbothered by any worries, before going back downstairs. I needed some form of release and in the end just sat next to the couch, sobbing quietly. I grabbed one of the pillows and pushed it against my mouth while I screamed out my pain again and again ...