In Love and Diplomacy

Chapter Fifty: Don't Look Down

I fought to keep my eyes from rolling back into my head; the spinning of the car followed by the slamming of my skull had been too much. White smoke still wafted in the air and tickled my throat and lungs. I wasn't sure if the smoke was from the airbags alone, or if we had another issue smoldering under the torn hood of the car.

I tried to move my arms. I still couldn't see very well, and my head was too loud with its throbs, but I needed to know if Reed was okay. Both of my arms responded—but only one arm made it up. The other arm flared in pain and fell back down against my will. My mouth tasted metal at the pain, and even more so when I looked down and saw a sharp angle of bone.

Oh, yeah, that's broken. No doubt about it.

There was another arm across my lap, but it wasn't mine. It lay limply across the center console and partly on my legs. I remembered Reed throwing his arm over me as we spun. He'd extended his arm across my chest with his palm facing me, and it still held the angle even then across my lap. His palm was now open and unmoving, and his arm curved unnaturally where it fell. His skin was red from the airbags.

I wanted to sob at the lifeless curl to his fingers. 

I tried to move to grip his hand, but tears sprung at the sharp stab in my arm. My uninjured arm slowly, but finally, made to hold him tightly, trying to avoid the angry red patches that covered his skin. I hoped his arm would move at my touch. A twitch, a flick, a tremble, anything. As long as it was something; anything that meant he was okay.

But he didn't move. My lungs shuddered in my chest as I tried to breathe through the pain. I squeezed my eyes shut and willed them to clear. I needed to get to Reed.

I opened my eyes again, blinking away the fuzziness. There was no doubt I had a concussion, but that didn't matter. What mattered was I hadn't seen Reed move yet. I didn't know if he was okay. I shifted in my seat, gritting my teeth and swallowing my groans, forcing myself to completely turn to face Reed.

His shoulder and elbow were twisted from holding me back onto my seat, but he made no move to correct their unnatural configuration. He didn't move at all. His body slumped against the seat, his eyes gently closed, and I saw no flutter or flash of green. The side airbag had gone off and blown him back into his seat, but not before his body was thrown around from the force of the spinning car. His mouth was parted slightly, and I could've pretended he was sleeping if it weren't for the trickle of blood that started on his temple. It was the side of his face turned away from me, but I could faintly see the stream of red as it went down his cheek to his shirt.

"Reed?" I croaked. I fought against the seatbelt still containing me to my seat. It dug into my neck and chafed, the skin injured from the strap digging in during the crash, but I didn't care. I didn't care about the pain in my broken arm, the concussion in my head, or the burns across my chest and face. I didn't care about the pain that threatened to consume me and drag me under again.

I cared about the love of my life slumped unresponsively in the driver's seat.

"Reed!" I shouted hoarsely, thrashing in my seat. The seatbelt wouldn't release, and no matter how hard I tugged, it wouldn't let me get to him. I cried out in pain when I tried to use both arms in desperation.

Then I froze.

The car had shifted. Ever so slightly, but enough to remind me we dangled over a fatal drop in a car that'd seen better days. One strong gust would probably be all it took for what was left of the guard rail to give way, for the other half of the car to topple to our grave.

"Reed," I tried again. My voice was still mangled in my throat; the smoke was burning my airways. We needed to get out. I reached with my good arm, gently grasping his shoulder and shaking him.