WWC WK12: Comatose

Author's Note (5-20-13): this piece won 2nd place/honorable mention for HarperCollins' Weekly Writer's Challenge #12, where we were challenged to write a tragic romance. It couldn't be more than 1500 words, and it had to follow all the requirements listed in my original author's note below.

Original Author's Note:

Okay, reqs:

Word length – check

Cliffhanger – check

Alternating first-person POVs – check

Second genre – tragedy, check

Complication – check (suicide attempt, coma)

Unattractive attribute – he’s been hit by an SUV; he’s a mangled mess

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“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted,” I read aloud to the corpse beside me. Well, he wasn’t entirely a corpse. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and the machines beeped with every thud of his heart. Swathed in bandages, though, I could hardly discern the life in my boyfriend’s body.

I didn’t feel comforted when I thought of when I first met Jeremy. I just felt a weight crushing my chest, the weight that told me I’d never see him smile again, never hear his voice. While I breezed through the Gospel of Matthew, that weight continued to bear down on me. Continued to press me until my ribs felt like they were cracking, until my heart threatened to burst.

Comfort didn’t find me as my thoughts returned to the Sunday after Prom. It didn’t steal into my heart as I remembered sitting in Sunday School between my best friend Kiesha and my sister Amy. The sun had filtered through the windows as we dragged our metal folding chairs into a semicircle. Remembering the warmth of the sunshine on my arms left me cold.

Jeremy had been sitting in the double-sink in the church kitchen because we only had enough chairs for the girls. The other boys had cried dibs on the counter space, leaving Jeremy to hunch up, rear-end in one sink and feet in the other…

Us girls got to wear our Prom dresses to church that day. It was tradition. When I sat down in front of the counter, careful of the boys’ feet, I wished it wasn’t. I didn’t feel comfortable in my shin-length black dress with rainbow sparkles. Out on the dim dance floor at Prom, I’d felt smooth and pretty.  Now I just felt stupid.

Warm breath tickled my ear as someone murmured, “You look really pretty, Ashley.”

Yelping, I jerked, knocking Jeremy in the nose with my head. He grunted and clapped a hand to his face.

“Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Is it bleeding?”

“Nah, it’s okay. Sorry I scared you, I was trying to be smooth,” he said, pulling his hand away. He wiggled his nose, grinning. Brown eyes seemed to light up like sunlight on dark honey. “I really like your dress, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“So, you wanna go to the movies sometime?” Jeremy asked.

I twitched and glanced at Amy. Was this guy really asking me out? My sister glanced at Jeremy and gave me one short nod. If she nodded as emphatically as I knew she wanted to, the guy in question would see her and I’d look like a dork.

“Sure,” I blurted.

“Awesome,” he said, and then it was time for opening prayer. We didn’t get to talk the rest of church. After Sunday School, I went to Young Women’s and the guys went to Elders’ Quorum. By the time I made it out of the crush of girls trying to meet up and chitchat with each other, Jeremy had gone home…

Now I turned the page to the first chapter of Mark and started to read aloud as the memory imprinted on my mind. This time, when the pain hit, I didn’t let myself cry.

ᴥᴥᴥ

I held your hand that day. I remember.

At the movies, we held hands in the dark and ate popcorn. The music vibrated through my teeth. Your sister was with us, and Kiesha and my friend Peter.

We bought ice cream afterward at Gelatto’s. My cone smelled like your hair, like strawberries and chocolate. I thought that as we walked to my Toyota—your hair was the color of chocolate and smelled like fresh strawberries. The security lights in the parking lot turned your hair purple.

There was the screech of metal on stone. Light exploded on the right. We turned. You screamed, but you were frozen. I pushed you out of the way as the light hurtled toward me. And then…then what? What happened, Ashley? Why can’t I remember? Why can’t I open my eyes?

Ashley, what happened? Did I save you from the light? Did I die? No I didn’t die. I’d be in Heaven or something. But what happened?

ᴥᴥᴥ

Blessed are those who mourn, I thought that night as tears rolled down my cheeks, mingling with the spray from my shower. I didn’t feel blessed. I didn’t feel comforted. I felt alone, and I felt guilty.

It was my fault the drunk driver hit Jeremy and put him in a coma. It was my fault because if he handt tried to save me, he could’ve gotten out of the way in time.

I glanced at the razor in its shallow shelf on the shower wall. Was I a murderer? Did I deserve to die for killing my almost-boyfriend? Because that’s basically what I’d done. I’d put Jeremy in a coma by being too slow, too stupid to move on my own. If he died, would I be a killer? Would I go to Hell?

The edge of the razor sliced through my fingers, drawing brilliant, crimson blood. It welled up and dripped onto the floor of the tub. Should I use it? Could I use it?

“You look really pretty.” The memory of Jeremy’s words sliced through me like the razor blade. I touched the frigid steel to the vein in my wrist and tasted condemnation. I was a murderess.

Thou shalt not suffer a murderess to live. The Old Testament verse beat at my heart. I had to die because only some miracle had saved Jeremy from dying under that out-of-control SUV. Without it, I’d have killed him. It was my fault.

The blade ripped across my skin. Dark blood gushed. I felt sick.

I remembered the smell of Jeremy’s aftershave when he’d hugged me the night of the accident. He’d picked me, Kiesha and my sister up in his car. Peter hugged Kiesha and my sister, and Jeremy wrapped his arms around me. My heart thumped hard in my chest. My cheeks burned.

He’d offered me his arm, like he was escorting me to some high-class, ritzy charity ball or something, instead of just a movie. He bought me popcorn and complimented me on my hair, which I’d straightened myself. We shared a two-pound bag of Gummy Savers. We bet who could fit the most in their mouth. I won.

Thinking about all that now made the tears flow faster. The weight pressed down on my chest as my blood swirled down the drain. White lights pulsed at the edges of my vision.

“Ashley?” Amy called from the other side of the bathroom door. “Are you okay?”

I tried to say I was fine, but nothing came out.

“Ashley?”

ᴥᴥᴥ

Where are you, Ashley? Why haven’t I heard your voice today? Why haven’t you come today? Your voice in the dark is all that keeps me here. I’m trapped in the dark. Why don’t you come? Where are you?

Ashley, did I save you? Or did the SUV hit us both? No, because then you wouldn’t be able to read scriptures to me. What happened?

Where are you?