Page 7 of Collided (Dirty Air 2)

“And the baby?” My mom’s voice carries over the sound of my retching.

“Kaia’s okay.” My brother, the reserved one who taught me how to keep my cool, cries in her arms. Hoarse words pass his lips as he whispers to my mom. I can’t take seeing him broken, his outward appearance matching the way I feel inside.

I grip the trash can, afraid of letting go as my dad runs a shaky hand down my back.

I hate the sound of Lukas crying. I hate this whole fucking day, the thought of losing my best friend while gaining a niece too fucking much. Why the fuck would God play such a cruel joke, snuffing out one life while saving another?

I escape the room, leaving my family behind as I run toward the hospital’s entrance. Darkness greets me, matching the churning emotions inside of me, the bright moon mocking me as I lose my shit in the empty quad. My legs give out as I kneel onto the grass, the dewy blades hiding the tears escaping my eyes.

I throw my head back as I let out a hoarse cry, the pained sound drowned out by an approaching ambulance’s sirens. The chilly air burns my lungs as I take in a sharp breath.

My dad shows up out of nowhere and kneels next to me, tugging me into his side as he holds me.

I can’t hide the way my body trembles. “I don’t understand. How can something like this happen? It’s the twenty-first fucking century. People don’t just die in childbirth anymore.”

“I’m sorry, son. There’s nothing that could’ve been done.” My dad chokes.

“So what? How the fuck am I supposed to look at Kaia without thinking of her?” I hate how weak my voice sounds to my own ears.

“You can look at her and see the last beautiful thing her mother created. She needs an uncle now more than ever.”

I clench my fist around blades of grass, tugging on the pieces, ripping them out to ease the edginess. “I don’t want her. I want Johanna back.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Of course I fucking do. I want to turn back the clock and erase this shitty day from history.” I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty about my confession. My tightening chest reminds me of the pain burrowing itself in my heart, testing my sanity.

“We can’t. But think of your brother and what he’s going through. Be strong for him.”

How can I be strong for him when my heart is going through a fucking paper shredder?

“I can’t.” I choke on the words, my voice a croaky whisper as my tears return, flooding my eyes as I think of Johanna. Of us getting in a paint fight while setting up Kaia’s nursery. The image fills me with dread and nausea all over again.

I don’t know how to cope with any of this shit. I’m unequipped to handle the brewing feelings, the painful memories, and the dull ache making itself at home inside of my chest.

My dad holds on to me, sitting in silence as pained breaths escape our mouths.

December 30th isn’t only the day of Johanna’s death. It’s the day I let go of myself, shoving my broken heart so deep inside of my body I wouldn’t be able to identify the tattered remains if I tried.