Thoughts rushed into and out of my head like a quickening stream. Tears smeared and blurred my vision as the darkened scenery rushed past. I came upon a branch in the path, quickly veering to the left. I was going much too fast, that much I knew.
“I didn't mean to,” I muttered to myself.
Talking always calmed me down, but there would be no one to be there to receive my words. My knuckles went white before me, biting down upon the leather wheel that spanned before my body. The roar of the vehicles engine fell upon my deaf ears. The cabin bounced hard as the tires collided with a speed bump. My breath caught in my throat, my right foot hesitating.
“No,” I told to the ghost in the passenger’s seat, “I can't stop.”
I spoke the three words over and over as I pressed my toes down upon the metal lever. I vigorously wiped at my face with a forearm, my mouth and tongue coated in thick, stringy saliva. I swallowed hard.
“I only wanted to tell him how I felt,” I spoke again.
As if the words were a key, my brain was instantly unlocked of thought. The drab looking buildings that lined my peripheral vision were suddenly unimportant. He was there, his smiling eyes and warm smile filling me with a mixture of utmost love and bitter contempt. I shook my head to clear the thought. He wouldn't budge from my mind.
He was standing at the base of the stairs. His face was now filled with sorrow and loss, a single tear staining his strong cheek.
“Baby, I'm so sorry,” he had said, taking a step forward, “I had no idea that I hurt you like that.”
I was angry. I wanted to make him feel what I was feeling. I wanted him to hold me and never let go.
“Don't!”
I pushed him. Why did I push him? I wanted him closer. I wanted to be within his tight embrace, the apology washing over the both of us. Instead, I watched as he lost his footing and careened down the long flight of steps. I called out to him, just as his head slammed into the stone hearth adjacent with the final stair. He was still.
“I love you,” I said again and again, “I know you loved me too. I'm sorry.”
I could now hear sirens behind me, followed by the twinkle of blue-red light that resonated from my mirror.
“No,” I said, my head shaking, “No, no, no.”
I repeated the word dozens of times. Hundreds. I refocused my attention on the task at hand, slamming my foot down upon the gas pedal. The siren was blaring and deafened me, but I still pressed on. More tears blotted at my eyes, skewing the road ahead of me. I took another moment to wipe at my face.
An impossibly large force suddenly lifted one side of the cabin. My gaze widened as half of the vehicle was upon the curb. The next instant, my face was in contact with a bright white surface. The noise of tearing, scraping metal was all around me, combined with noises of shattering glass. Pain was an alien concept to me; my body had little space for anything but fear and sorrow. At last, the car settled to a halt. I knew I was injured; my leg refused to move and I felt the hot flow of something from the top of my face. All around me, the blare of sirens sounded. I heard their footsteps. I knew that they were coming to take me away.
“I'm sorry baby,” I muttered into the material still clinging to my face, “I didn't mean to.”
“Ma'am, are you all right?”
I turned my head to see the young face of a man peering into a now shattered opening that was once a window. I watched him for a few moments before allowing my head to fall back into the material once again.
“No,” I said with a tired, groggy tone, “I just killed my husband.”
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