I don't remember falling asleep.
One moment I'm staring at the ceiling, listening to James shift on the floor. The next—
I'm in the backseat.
The road is dark. The kind of dark that swallows the edges of things.
Trees blur past the windows.
My dad's hands are steady on the steering wheel.
My mom hums softly, the way she always does on long drives.
Then headlights appear.
They don't stay where they should.
They drift. Slide. Cross the line.
My dad swears and jerks the wheel.
Everything tilts.
The car veers violently off the road, tires screaming, my body slamming into the seatbelt—
Impact.
Sound shatters. Metal shrieks. Glass explodes like rain. My head snaps forward, and pain blooms white-hot behind my eyes.
Then—nothing.
We're wrapped around a tree.
Smoke hangs thick in the air. My ears ring so loudly it feels like I'm underwater. My chest aches every time I try to breathe.
"Mom?" I whisper.
No answer.
I turn my head, slow and dizzy, and look through the shattered window.
Another car sits on the road. Crooked. Idling. Its headlights flood the trees with harsh light.
A man stumbles out.
He moves wrong—too fast, too unsteady. He's shouting, but the words blur together, panicked and rough.
Then a boy appears.
He runs toward us.
Toward me.
He reaches my door and grabs the handle, yanking with both hands.
It doesn't budge.
He pounds on the glass, his face pressed close, eyes wide with terror.
The radio is still on, quiet and steady.
I wanna know… have you ever seen the rain…
"It's okay!" he says. "You're gonna be okay!"
I can't move.
"Hey!" the man yells.
The boy glances back at him, then at my car. He points—at my parents. At me.
The man rushes forward and grabs the boy's arm.
Rain starts to fall, heavy and sudden.
The boy fights him, twisting, reaching for my door until his fingers slip away.
"No," I whisper. I don't know who I'm begging.
The man drags the boy back to the car. A door slams. The engine roars—too loud, too fast.
Red taillights streak into the dark.
They don't come back.
I turn to my parents.
They're too still.
Too quiet.
"No," I say. "No, no, no—"
The air vanishes. The car feels smaller, tighter, crushing my chest—
"Laura."
I wake up gasping, my heart slamming against my ribs. My hands are shaking so hard I can't make them stop.
"Hey. Hey." James is already up, kneeling beside the bed. His voice is low, steady. "You're okay."
The room swims back into focus. My walls. My bed. James's blanket on the floor.
"It felt real," I whisper. My throat burns. "Too real."
"I know," he says gently. "Nightmares do that."
I press my palms into my eyes, but the images won't fade.
"There was a boy," I say. "And a man. And they just… left." I swallow. "I don't know if it was a memory or something my brain made up."
I look at him. His face is still bruised, dark circles shadowing his eyes.
"What if I forgot something?" I ask quietly.
"Forgot something?" he repeats.
"About the night of the accident."
"It's possible," he says after a moment. "Your brain might've been trying to protect you."
I nod, even though I'm not sure I believe it.
After a pause, James says, "You don't have to figure that out right now. Just try to get some sleep. I'm here if you need me."
He lies back down on the floor. I roll onto my side, facing away.
Slowly, my breathing evens out.