Twenty hours,
as it turned
out. I tried to
open my eyes.
Please, Bree?
Adam’s tone
forced me into
the moment.
“Hang on.”
Something happened.
My mouth tasted
like dead speed,
dying beer, and
foreboding.
There was an accident
Coming
Jumped up, dashed
for mouthwash,
forgetting the
uncertainty
of legs, unused for
twenty hours, but
spurred to confront the
fear
in his voice, and
something more,
something too like
guilt.
Oh God, who was in
the mirror? Not Bree,