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.