Streams of water trickled beneath my feet against the dark surface. Sweat and rain coated my face as I shoved the window of the bus closed once again. It wouldn't stay shut, resulting in water spraying me in the face.

I sighed, then leaned my head against the glass. It was the first Saturday in September, and we had just played the opening game of the season. The chatter of my teammates reached me, but I didn't register the words being spoken. Generally, the talk after our soccer games was just about key moments, like shots we could've taken, or the points we did score.

Sometimes, I was included in the conversations. Usually, I didn't desire to participate, so I didn't. Ever since Owen died, people wore me out. Even my friend, Elena, was exhausting at times.

I tried, I really did. I didn't purposefully isolate myself. Dealing with sudden emotions was hard, especially when I was alone. Having people to talk to was helpful, but I had to figure out what was wrong before I could feel comfortable talking about it. I had to get used to the idea that something was wrong.

I had to get used to not telling Owen about it.

That particular day, on the way home from our muddy, rainy, messy soccer game, I felt weak. It had almost been a year since Owen had left, and yet, my thoughts of him were still distracting. Many days, the grief was overpowering, as if his death had happened only yesterday.

Except, yesterday turned into two days, then into weeks, months, and a year. I learned to be happy-- just not whole. Everyday I felt like a piece of my life was missing. I hated acknowledging this fact.

I decided to really try and live. I said this at his grave, but it took a while to really commit to the idea. Even though I knew I had to grow, I didn't want to grow away from him. I protested against myself, because I was still rooted by our friendship. I didn't want to build a new foundation for myself.

I still had to attempt. Even though I hated moving on, I tried to satisfy my peers. I set out to "live extravagantly". Putting a title to seasons in life is sometimes motivating, as Owen had told me.

Living extravagantly was often tiring. For example, that day at soccer: tiring.

I wished Owen was there to watch me. Maybe I would be more motivated to continue with my ambition.

The bus jostled along the highway, it's engine roaring in my ears. The faster it went, the louder it became, the noisier my teammates got. Elena sat behind me, sometimes making an effort to include me in the conversation. I appreciated the gesture, truly. Some topics are hard to stay engaged in.

I watched the lights of a gas station come into view, blinking through the rain. The bus slowed to turn in, still an hour away from our school. I yawned in the dark. The daylight was long gone.

Dried mud stuck to my arms and legs. I brushed at it, cringing at how bad I smelled.

That was my night. Terrible B.O., mud, rain, the humid bus, and my conversational team. I decided to enjoy it-- soon enough, I would be graduating.

"I hope Coach let's us off so we can get food!" Elena exclaimed as the bus began to turn.

I smiled at her comment, then heard the other girls agree eagerly, then the driver blared her horn.

I jumped in my seat, then hear one of the girls let out a scream, followed by multiple other screeches; both from people and the breaks. My heart slammed against my rib cage while I turned to see blaring headlights and--

I felt my head slam into the window while my hands flailed for something to hold on to. I gasped as the world spun and light bounced off of shattering glass. The bus tipped on its wheels, lingering for a petrifying moment...

In that split second, I pushed myself away from the direction the ground was coming. For a terrifying pause, I was suspended in mid-air, stuck between car horns, crashes, screams, and the rain. All at once, the scene was too fast, but too detailed. The girls in the seats around me were shocked, unconscious, or being thrown to the other side of the bus.

Finally, the bus landed on its left side. I slammed into the ceiling, then was forced back down to the ground, helpless.

Immediately, my senses of hearing and sight faded in and out. I couldn't move. The loudest sound was air being pulled in and out of my lungs.

"Just breathe, Adaliah," I told myself.

The pain was numbing, and soon, I was unaware of it. I felt tired, so I closed my eyes. I found some solace in the darkness coaxing me in, assuring me I would be safe.

If I was safe, the only person I would be with was Owen. He kept me safe, he protected me. There was no way he could be here if I was in pain. He was in the dark with me, soothing me with the temptation of letting go.

The silence thrummed in my ears as I faintly fought to breathe. Only a low throb came to my head. I reached for the dark, for the closer I was to it, the farther away the pain was. Owen was there. For the past year, I lived in a constant battle with pain. I just wanted peace. I just wanted to be with him.

And this peace-- it seemed to want me, too.

"No," someone mumbled.

The word was so quiet, so distinctive against the silence. It tugged at me, too, introducing me to the idea of consciousness instead of darkness. This brought the ability to think a little more clearly.

"Adaliah... No."

With my name, the world snapped into focus. A wave of pain washed over me, starting at my legs and climbing up my body. I tried to pull away from it, only to realize that the pain was inside me. I couldn't escape myself that easily; I should know better.

"Oh!" someone gasped softly. "It's okay, it's okay. Don't move."

His voice.

I cautiously opened my eyelids, well aware of the cool air clinging to my skin. The source of warmth was coming from my chest, my heart. However, it was also coming from my right side, close to my shoulder. Rain still drizzled, taking me off guard as I tried to keep my eyes open. Gentle fingers cradled my head and held my hand.

A silhouette loomed over me, blocking the rain and the shining lights from the gas station. The relief was comforting, but my head throbbed, and the rest of my body trembled from the cold. Wet concrete dug into my calves and back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bus about fifty yards away.

I couldn't have... Was I really thrown that far during the crash?

My fingers were pulled at, bringing me farther away from my stupor. I focused on the face instead, and recognized it immediately. He was different. Though, memories could only hold out for so long.

"You're supposed to be dead," I whispered, gazing into Owen's freckled face.

He grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. Water dripped off his blond curls, which dangled in front of his forehead.

"What if I'm a ghost?" he joked, brushed a wet strand of hair from my forehead. His tone wasn't lighthearted like it should've been. He was more worried than he was in my daydreams.

"Am I dead, too?"

His expression was suddenly serious. As he swallowed hard, he shook his head. For a brief moment, he closed his eyes, then said, "Not yet."

I was too distant to understand the weight of his answer. Everything was fuzzy, overwhelming to my confused brain.

"Owen--" I started, upset that I couldn't make sense of what was happening to me. Why was I in so much pain? Where were my teammates? Was I the only survivor?

"Don't talk, Adaliah. It's okay," he soothed, bringing back his gentle smile.

"Did you rescue me?" I said anyway.

He sighed with relief, apparently afraid of my swimming mind's wonders.

"Yes. Everyone else is at least alive. Adaliah, you were dying," he replied, his voice tight.

I wanted to grab his hand again and wipe the worried expression off his face, but I found I couldn't move. Not from physical constrictions. I couldn't move due to the haze, the shock, the bewilderment. I was dying? Owen was here? But Owen was dead...

Sharp sirens came to my ears, causing me to cringe. Owen snapped his focus in that direction, then looked back at me. He forced a smile and carefully laid my head against the concrete.

"Owen, no," I breathed as he sat back on his knees, away from me.

"Stay still. Don't move," he instructed. He didn't meet my eyes, hiding his expression from me.

My desire became not for the pain to go away, but to hear his voice again. That is what drove out all the fear in me. The fear of not being okay was worse than the pain.

I held onto his fingers for as long as I could. He pulled his hand out of mine. The gesture was reluctant, not harsh.

As soon as I lost contact with him, my sense of reality diminished. I began to go under again, pounded into the dark with the raindrops that became heavy. Each throb of my head drove me further into the senseless state.

"I'm not leaving forever this time," he whispered. His breath was hot on my ear, and I closed my eyes slowly.

When he left, I did too.

<<<<<<<<<<

{July 8, 2017}

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