My head was in her lap. Her friend was driving fast. Too fast. Way too fast. She wrapped her arms around me. It was cold and late and I'm in a stranger's car. No. I met him that morning. It's fine. Oh god. Are we going to crash? She hushed me. Have I been shivering this whole time? She laid her jacket over me as a makeshift blanket. The car is still too fast. The music is too loud and it's dark. Am I dying? No it's fine. She's got me. How long has it been since we left? Oh ****, wasn't he drinking? We're going to die. Why did I come with? She tells him to slow down. I somehow mutter out a sorry to him. I'm laying in the backseat of a half-stranger's car. The leather interior is sticking to me. It's not as cold as it was before. … … … Am I still awake? I can't move. Did I die? No, I still feel her there. She's rubbing my back, I think. I'm asleep. Wait am I? Yes. I think so. It's okay. We're at her house. We made it. I made it. It's okay.
This was a spoken word I had to write last year in my creative writing class. I remember reading it out to the class and my voice was incredibly shaky. I got a B- on it. Oh well.