Chapter 21: Safe

Abigail meets her knight in shining armor.

Abigail.

 I can hear the approaching


rumble of cars, zooming
somewhere in the distance.

Down the asphalt
road, crawling near.

I wonder how deep the
ditch is considering that

even with my head
up, I still can't see

the road or anything
other than this garbage

infested, grass and
mud based hole.

I think about screaming
for help, but surely then

someone will want to
take me to a hospital

and this is a story
no one wants to tell

their parents.

I lay here for some time,

until I hear a car door slam
           shut and the blurry chatter

of a concerned voice, no
           doubt calling out to me.

I'd gotten so exhausted I
           dropped my head which

caused me to immediately
           black out. The sudden sound
 
jolting me awake, my ears
          still clogged with fatigue. The
 
scuffled footsteps cross the
          street, the stranger calling out

an apology to the cars
           attempting to pass his parked
 
vehicle. I hear his messy
              steps slide down into the

ditch, his heavy boot
             knocking into my left shin.

It hurts, like hell it hurts,
             but I have no energy left to

express my discomfort.
            "Are you okay? Well I mean,

I can tell you're not but...
             S**t. There's blood everywhere.

What happened to you?"
             I make a low gurgling noise that

only I can translate as a
             laugh. I'd like to know the same

thing, I mentally reply. My
             lips aren't able to form a response.

He stoops to place his ear
             to my lips. "Help," is all I manage

to whisper. And even then
             we both know it's a disturbing
 
noise. Not quite a voice,
             more of the sound a dying

animal makes before you
             shoot it that final time to put it

out of it's misery. I try to
              make out the contours of his

face. Maybe a familiar
              feature to tell me I've seen him

before. In a town so small,
                 I know I must have at least once.
           
My vision is too blurry,

I can hardly focus  on his existence
    long enough before my head begins to
            spin. I lazily turn my skull over as my
                   stomach heaves from nausea, caused
                            by the dizziness. I throw up stomach
                                      acid, almost choking on my own bile.
         I feel pressure on the base of my neck, as
                 my head is lifted and my airways open. I
                      gasp for oxygen, swallowing the damp air.
                   "Come on, I've got some water back in my truck."
               Maybe I should protest. After what happened
          last night, getting into a truck with a male
    stranger isn't the smartest thing I could
                                  do. But water does sound amazing.....
                             I nod my head slowly, not much, but
                         he seems to understand the gesture.
                    I wrap my good arm around his neck
             and shake my head when he reaches
         for the other.


"It's broken?

Well, don't worry.
You'll be at the ho
spital soon. We'll--"
I drop all my weight
, causing him to stru

ggle. Trying to get my message across. Staying here is better than an
  hospital and/or explanation being delivered to my parents. I shake my
head as he fights to keep me up. "Okay, okay. We'll discuss it once yo
u've had some water." I ease up on the flailing and allow him to help m
e limp from the ditch. We make no progress in what seems like forever.
I can tell in his face that he's fed up with the human crutch act, the sw
eat on his forehead running down his face. "Alright. I'm going to lift y
ou, okay?" I know there's no point in saying no, so I nod again. The de
ep wrinkles in his forehead crease with concern not age. He isn't much

older than me. Maybe 20 or 21. He has hazel-y green eyes that search

 for a way to lift my l
  egs and support my
  torso without irritati
   ng my injured ankle.

           

He figures it out quickly,

shaggy brown hair flopping
onto his forehead. He's cute,

sure. But I've got other things
on my mind. In a lot less time

than before, we're out of the
ditch, waiting for cars to pass

and he carries me towards his
large truck parked on the side.