Читать книгу Here Lies Bridget - Paige Harbison - Страница 5

I pressed down on the accelerator. It felt good to have power back in my life. Even if it was just power over my car, or power over my fate: dying or living.

The road was a winding one, with trees on either side, and very little traffic. I watched the speedometer reading rise from thirty mph to forty.

All I could think about was how sorry everyone would be when they found out. I pictured the local news coverage, the headlines, the sheet of paper they’d send around the school, offering grief counseling to my classmates.

Forty-five.

Maybe it wasn’t that I wanted to die; maybe I just wanted to scare them. I wanted them all to realize what could have happened and to feel awful for how they’d acted. I wanted them to try to apologize and beg for a chance to make up for everything they’d done.

Fifty.

Fifty-five.

I pictured the faces of my friends as they heard the news. Grasping each other’s arms, waiting to be told everything would be okay. Then hearing that it wouldn’t be, or that the doctors weren’t sure. Maybe visiting my hospital room, where I would lie motionless, the sound of my heart monitor beeping not nearly often enough.

I wondered who would visit me, who would refuse to leave until I woke up. Perhaps even get into a nasty snarl with one of the doctors who told them to leave because visiting hours were over.

I pictured Meredith having to explain to my father what had happened while he was out of town. She’d admit how she’d treated me, and my father would tell her not to speak to him. Maybe he’d even kick her out of the house. Maybe he’d feel guilty for never being around.

And what if I did die? Who would go to my funeral? Who would read the eulogies? What smiling picture of me would they place in the flower wreath next to my casket? Who would break down while deciding which outfit to wear to the service?

I pictured Liam giving a eulogy for me, vowing never to love again.

My engine roared, my tires eating up the pavement.

I had been paying more attention to my thoughts than to the road, and when I shook my focus back to my driving, I found myself coming too fast into a curve. My foot jerked from the accelerator to the brake in an instinct to survive. Suddenly I wished I could take back the thoughts I’d just had. They were stupid. I was being reckless. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to drive back to school and pretend I’d never left at all.

The side of the road veered down an embankment, where the only things that could stop me were the trees.

In seconds, the car tires bounced over the edge of the road into the grass and rocks. My foot, still pressed hard on the brake, shook like a muscle rarely used. I didn’t know if I was screaming. All I knew was that my side of the car was heading toward a huge tree.

Oh, my God, I’m going to die. Icy fingers clutched my heart.

What happened after that I’d never be able to explain. I don’t know if it was a dream, I don’t know if it was real, I don’t know if it was my Oz. But it wasn’t what I would have expected.

There were no three ghosts, no big silver screen with the movie of my life playing, no well-intentioned angel looking to earn his wings. Just a jury of people I’d wronged, deciding whether or not I got to live.

Everything was done. I couldn’t take it back, couldn’t change it. It was way too late to say the two words that could have saved me if I’d just meant them sooner.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry …

But we’ll get to that. First I have to tell you why I got in the car to begin with.