Caden
Everything hurts. It’s not the kind of hurt you can blink away. This kind is bone-deep. Hot. Pulsing. Like something inside me got shattered and the pieces are still slicing me open from the inside. My mouth tastes like iron. My head is splitting. My chest feels like it’s caved in.
But I’m still here. Alive. Barely.
At first, there’s just darkness. Then come the sounds. The distant beep of machines. A low murmur of voices. Shoes squeaking on the tile. A monitor ticking off what I assume is my heartbeat. I don’t want to open my eyes or be back in my body. I remember why it hurts, and suddenly I’m back there—behind the wheel.
The world outside flashes by in pieces I can’t hold onto. Music blaring. Engine roaring under my foot like a dare. I’m not thinking. Just driving. Too fast.
