I had tried to text Taylor several times about what had happened, but I had got no response.

I had no idea what I had done to make her run away, but as the hours turned to days, I felt as if I had caused some unknown problem. I ran through the events of that night in my head, over and over, but I couldn't think of what I had done to upset her so much.

Dr. Morgan wasn't much help either. 

Sitting across from me with a mix of pity and confusion marring her features, the Doctor leaned forward across the dark wood of the desk and patted my hand. "These things are never easy, and I apologize if my advice made things worse between the two of you."

I shook my head. "It wasn't your fault, you couldn't have known." The words felt hollow, thick in my throat. I knew, in the grand scheme of things, that people come and go. I had lost many friends when I left my parent's house and broke away from the religion I'd grown up in. I was no stranger to the ebb and flow of companionship in this life. 

But yet, Taylor's abrupt departure that day still left a bad taste in my mouth. There was something that was missing, some context I just didn't have. I had a feeling that Kayce Richards had the answers I was looking for, but I was afraid to approach her considering how poorly things had gone so far. 

Dr. Morgan's expectant look pulled me out of my reverie. Studying her features I realized I'd missed something she had said, lost in my thoughts. I shifted in the uncomfortable armchair, trying to collect myself.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that, please?" I flushed, cursing myself for being so distracted today.

"I was asking you how you've been feeling recently about going to college soon. How you're planning on balancing school and work." The older blonde gave me a sympathetic smile, knowing I was going through a lot right now.

I had, truthfully, been procrastinating on that train of thought. I was excited to start school, but working so frequently, on top of spending time with Kris and Taylor had been leaving me feeling worn out. Adding school to that delicate balance concerned me.

"I don't really know. I'm worried about trying to balance working full time and going to school." The pills on my sweatshirt were suddenly very interesting as I struggled to look anywhere but at the doctor. 

"I wish I could tell you that it gets easier, but it doesn't. You just get better at managing the chaos." Dr. Morgan gazed out of the window, her eyes swirling with memories. No doubt remembering when she was in a similar situation. 

My mind wandered back to Taylor as I turned to stare at the potted plant in the corner of the room. "I just don't understand. She just... left. She's flirted with me for so long.. the one time I lean into it, she left!" I knew Maria just wanted to talk about my mental health, but I couldn't focus on anything else. 

She sighed. "Luna, I know this is bothering you, but we can't change what happened. No matter how many times you overthink it, nothing you do at this point will make her come back. If she does talk to you again, that will be your chance to find out what happened. Until then, worry about your goals and ambitions." Her voice was firm, resolute. I usually appreciated her no-nonsense nature, but today, it was really getting on my nerves.

I bit back a few snippy reports and tried to focus on the task at hand. I had been so upset about Taylor, I hadn't had time to write anything in my notebook for this session. "What should I write about?"

"It's your book, you can write about anything you want. Has anything else happened since we last spoke that you would like to talk about?" The drumming of her manicure on the desk told me I had better think of something soon. Our time was nearly halfway over.

'Uh, yeah. I'd really like to talk about Taylor and her ignoring me.'

 I knew that wasn't the answer she was looking for, so instead I decided to tell her about the drama that had happened over the weekend. 

December 8, 2014

Dylan Wooding was very slow to anger.

Unlike his two older siblings, Dylan didn't care to argue and usually avoided confrontation. However, when he did get mad, he was a force to be reckoned with. 

I had come home Friday afternoon from a harrowing morning shift at BurgerByte to find Matt and Dylan screaming at each other. I heard their muffled yells as I made my way onto the porch.

"I'm not a little kid anymore!"

"Then stop acting like one, you little shit!"

As I walked into the living room, I could see them in the kitchen, nearly nose-to-nose.  Dylan's chocolate brown eyes were ablaze with anger, drilling into his older brother. His lip was curled as he stared at Matt. Matt's fists were clenched and his wavy hair looked ruffled, as if he'd run his fingers through it one too many times. 

Kris burst in the house from the car, an armful of groceries. She shuffled past me to break up the boys' argument, storming into the kitchen and pulling them apart.

I was reminded of a simpler time, when Matt was a gangly teenager with uneven patches of auburn facial hair and acne. Being nearly ten years apart in age, it wasn't unusual for the boys to disagree, but instead of them wrestling over a video game or what flavor of pizza rolls they wanted, the Wooding boys were engaged in a battle of wills. Kris had always been the one to break them up; the voice of reason between the occasional testosterone-driven conflict.  

"Enough! What are you two morons on about now!?" Kris snarled. She looked like a lion, her regal ginger curls floating around her. She looked between her brothers expectantly. Dylan was usually the first to apologize and come to a solution, but today the younger ginger was not in the mood for making amends.

Matt was the first to heed her unspoken warning, backing up and crossing his arms. "Dylan wants to start working after school. I told him he needs to focus on his studies. Hell, he might be the first one of us to go to college at this rate!"

I tried not to be hurt by that comment. Whilst I was not biologically related to the Woodings, I did consider them my family. His exclusion did nothing to help my feelings of being an outsider amongst them. I looked down at the peeling laminate, wishing I could sink into the yellowing fake tile. 

I hated confrontation at the best of times, which was ironic considering my temper. I guess the better way to put it is I hated other people's conflict. I debated hiding in my room, this conversation didn't concern me and I doubted they would miss my presence in this argument.

Dylan's retort startled me out of my inner monologue, the usually level-headed teen was shaking with barely-controlled rage. "I don't WANT to go to college! I want to go to a trade school and do something with my hands, like you do!"  His chest was heaving and I could tell he was having a hard time keeping up his bravado.

Matt bristled. "No, you don't! It is hard work, dirty work, with low pay and bullshit bosses. You think your little sissy self could handle working out in the heat for 12 hours a day?" He gestured wildly as he spoke, fury etched in his features.

Kris rounded on Matt in an instant. "MATTHEW! That is not necessary!" She snapped, turning on her heel to face Dylan. "You need to stay in school, Dylan. It's not up for discussion."

Dylan glared at Kris, taking a step towards her. "I don't want to quit school, I said I could pick up a job after I get off the bus. Old Man James down the road has already offered to help me learn how to do electrician work as his apprentice."

Dylan was no stranger to our financial struggles. He had seen the toll that the endless shifts had caused on his siblings. While I could see why Kris and Matt wanted Dylan to focus on his school, I couldn't help but agree that Dylan working would help improve our dire circumstances. 

"No! You will not be working after school, you can wait until you're 18 and graduated to take on a job. School comes first, I will not have you getting overwhelmed and dropping out." Kris reached a hand to the bridge of her nose, massaging the area.  Her tone was firm and resolute, warning him not to pry further.

Her dismissal of the younger ginger made him even angrier and he got eerily quiet.

"Why? Because you did?" Dylan sneered.

I saw the look on Kris' face before Matt did and took a step towards her to stop what I knew was coming. I was too late.

The sound of a slap rang out throughout the silence of the house. 

Dylan touched his face in shock as Kris stormed out of the trailer, slamming the screen door so hard I thought the rusted hinges would pop off. We heard her minivan tear out of the driveway as Matt looked at his younger brother.

"Too far, Dylan."

I slid my notebook across the desk. As Dr. Morgan read, I fidgeted with a lock of hair hanging in front of my face. I glanced out the window, watching the cars scurrying back and forth across the main road. Occasionally, the geriatric light outside would turn red and the cars would slow to a halt. I wondered where some of them were going and made up little backstories in my head to pass the time.

After a few moments of silence, Dr. Morgan looked over her glasses at me. "It can't be easy watching people you love fight like that." Her slate grey eyes were searching mine for something, but I wasn't sure what.

I shook my head, picking at a hangnail. "No. I know Matt and Kris mean well, but Dylan just wants to help out. He know we're struggling just like I do. He hates being treated like a child." I turned my attention back to the window, noticing Kris' van was now at the stoplight. 

She was fifteen minutes early, which was odd. She must have gotten off early to pick me up. I could hear Dr. Morgan talking to me, but I was fixated on the champagne colored minivan, watching as the light turned green and she began to make her turn into the parking lot. 

Out of nowhere, a black dodge truck ran the red light and plowed right into the drivers' side of the van. The squeal of the tires and the loud sound of metal colliding made my heart fall into my stomach.

I screamed.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl and I watched as Kris' van spun around from the impact, the driver's side wheel well and door crumpled in the chaos. The cursed black truck skidded to a stop a few feet away and I could see the entire front end of the ebony Dodge was destroyed. I was too far away to see any injuries, but by the extent of the damage, I could tell it was bad.

Dr. Morgan was startled for a moment and looked where I was staring, in shock. Panic washed over her features as her eyes widened. "Oh my God!" She frantically picked up the phone on her desk and dialed 911. 

Tears had began streaming down my face before I had even known they were there.

"Maria! Maria, that's Kris! That's Kris' van!" I sobbed. I was shaking, frantically trying to collect my things.  Blood roared in my ears and I could faintly hear the doctor relaying the details to EMS. With trembling hands I slammed the rickety zipper of my bookbag shut and threw it over my shoulder. 

I knew I could get to Kris before the ambulance or even the police. 

 I was out the door of Dr. Morgan's office and running like a madwoman. I sprinted into the waiting room before I had even registered that I'd left the room. I took gulps of air that burned my lungs as I slammed into the glass door of the main office. I looked like a woman possessed, trying to push a door that required me to pull. I swung the door open and took off running down the sidewalk to the intersection. 

As I cleared the side of the building, I could see the commotion. Several cars had their hazards on, people running from all sides to try and help. The people around the mangled vehicles prevented me from seeing the driver's side window. Dust swirled around the wreckage like an eerie fog. My pulse pounded in my chest and I was running so fast I felt like my lungs would burst. 

Thoughts clamored in my mind like crashing cymbals. Was she dead? What would I tell Matt and Dylan? Where was the ambulance? Dark thoughts about what I would do to the driver of the truck swirled in the background, but I tried to push them aside.

As I neared the site of the wreck, I passed the window I had been staring out only moments prior. I could see from the corner of my vision that Dr. Morgan was plastered against the glass, staring out with concern, the phone still in her hand. No doubt shouting orders and directions to the dispatcher on the other end of the line.

I crossed the intersection with little heed to the other cars trying to make their way around the twisted vehicles. Disregarding the honking and swears of the other drivers, I dashed to Kris' van, daring to peer into the broken glass of the passenger side window. 

The sight of my battered best friend took the breath from my lungs.

Kris was pale and unconscious, her head leaned forward in an awkward angle. Her breathing was ragged, but the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest caused me to let out a small sigh of relief.

She was alive, but badly wounded. I could see the cream colored sweater she was wearing blooming with droplets of fresh blood, presumably dripping from the gash on her forehead. The airbag had deployed and the dusty residue had burned her along her hands and wrist. I could see through her torn skinny jeans that her leg was likely broken, mottled purple bruises springing to the forefront of her ivory flesh.

In the distance I could faintly hear the wail of an emergency vehicle rushing to our aid. A chorus of relief came from the good Samaritans who had stopped to help her. I could see the flashing lights breaching the top of the hill and soon a firetruck came barreling towards us.

Cars scurried to get out of the chaos, onlookers nearly leaning out of their cars to get a better look at the tragedy. I cursed them all, feeling violated by their prying eyes. My thoughts were like a hurricane, unable to focus on much of anything. I prayed that EMS would arrive shortly and hoped that Kris would be okay.

As the firetruck screeched to a stop, I watched the men come running towards us. "MAKE WAY!" One bellowed as the crowd dispersed to let them through. I clung to the passenger window as they looked at me. "I'm her friend! Please help her. I can't lose her."

One of them looked at the carnage around us and sent me a sympathetic look. "We will, but we need you out of the way so we can do our job. Call her family. When EMS gets here, I will let you know and you can ride with her if you want."

I nodded numbly and fumbled in my pockets for my phone. In my shock I hadn't even thought to call Matt and Dylan. I walked a few paces away to the soft grass near the sidewalk and paced while the phone rang. 

It wasn't until the third ring that I heard the gruff voice of the eldest Wooding brother. "Hello?"

My words came tumbling out like a typhoon. "Matt, come quick! It's Kris, she was in a bad accident. She got t-boned by a truck turning into Lakeside. She's all banged up." I dissolved into incoherent sobbing towards the end. The line went quiet as Matt absorbed my words.

"I'll be right there." He hung up and I was left to watch as the ambulance pulled up. I took a shaky breath and tried to calm myself. I watched as the firefighters cut the faded metal of Kris' van to get her out. The scream of the metal crunching stung my ears and made me wince. A gentle-looking EMS lady approached me with a clipboard in hand. "Hi honey, how are you holding up?"

A fresh wave of anguish rolled over me as I started to sob again. I sniffled and tried to collect myself to answer her questions. 

The EMT looked calmly at me as I stifled my sobs. "What's your friends name?" 

"U-Um... Kristina Wooding... she's 20." The words were thick in my mouth and I struggled to focus.

"Okay, so what is her birthday?" She scribbled various things onto her clipboard about the accident. She was young, not much older then myself and had long brunette hair pulled into a tight bun. The grey shirt on her willowy frame listed her name as Starling

"July 30th, 1995." I picked at my sweater and tried hard not to burst into tears again. A police car had pulled up while we had been chatting and I could see an older policeman walking over to us. Behind him, I could see the firemen and the EMTs working together to pull Kris from the wreckage, but the twisted metal of the door was making it difficult.

"Is she allergic to anything?" I could appreciate that the first responder didn't try to mince words or try to make me feel better. I couldn't breathe and any empty platitudes would have just made me angry.

"Uh, penicillin, I think. It gives her a rash." I remembered Kris' reaction to the meds when we were kids, her crying in pain when the inflamed skin was touched by her clothes. It was a miserable day for her. I wondered how much pain she was in now and wondered if it was better for her to be unconscious right now.

"Did you see the wreck?" The policeman asked gruffly. He seemed to be nearing 50 or so, hard, jaded eyes from countless atrocities he'd seen.

I nodded numbly, staring at my feet. I pointed behind me to the brick building. "I go to therapy there, I saw the wreck out the window. The black dodge ran the red light and hit Kris in the driver's side."

The policeman wrote on his own notepad before glancing up to see Matt's aging Chevy tear into the grass near the wreck. I could see him as he emerged from the ancient blue pickup, his eyes puffy from crying and his hair ruffled. He looked at me for a moment before his eyes landed on the unconscious Kris and the paramedics trying to free her. 

Without thinking, he sprinted over to the passenger side, leaning in and screaming Kris' name. The policeman who'd been talking with me darted over to Matt and dragged him away as I shouted at them.

"STOP! That's her brother!" I shouted, but it was in vain. Matt was fighting tooth and nail to get away from the older man, struggling to break free. Matt may have been strong from his years of hard labor, but the police officer's training made him able to get the upper hand on Matt, ending the skirmish.

"Easy, son, easy." The policeman tried to soothe Matt with little impact, glaring at him. "Let the EMTs do their job."

Matt was shaking, his face taut with anger and worry. "She needs help! I can help them!" I could see the emotions swirling in his puffy eyes, he wouldn't take his eyes of the mangled hunk of metal that was formerly Kris' minivan.

The officer shook his head, his voice softening as the first responders finally managed to wrench Kris' limp form from the van. "You're scared and upset, rightfully so. But those things cloud your judgement and you can wind up hurting her worse, let them work on it."

Matt steeled himself, balling his fist, eventually nodding. He looked at me, desperation etched on his features. "I hate feeling helpless." 

I watched as the got Kris onto the stretcher and wheeled her into the ambulance, Matt following them from a safe distance, lest he invoke the ire of the policeman. They loaded her carefully into the ambulance, her pale skin was nearly translucent due to blood loss and shock. I winced every time they jostled her, she looked so fragile, like she was made of glass.

The same EMT from before approached us and gave me a small smile of encouragement. "They're ready to leave, if you're going to ride with, you should probably come now."

I glanced at Matt. "You're her brother, you should go."

He gave me a thankful nod, starting towards the ambulance before fishing in his pockets and tossing me the keys to his truck. "You know where the hospital is at?"

I winced as the memory of my last attempt to end my life flashed briefly in the back of my mind. "Yeah, I was there a few months ago, remember?"

Matt's expression darkened for a moment and he nodded. "Oh... Yeah.. That's right."

The paramedic cleared her throat as a cue to move things along. Matt climbed into the back of the ambulance, shutting the door behind him. The sirens screamed as they sped off, deafening at first but then quickly disappeared over the horizon.

I was left with the sounds of fire rescue and police behind me. I walked numbly to Matt's truck and climbed inside, the slam of the rusty door behind me echoing throughout the cab. The silence compared to outside threatened to suffocate me as I fumbled to shove the key in the ignition.

I tried to start the elderly truck 3 times before it roared to life, clicking my seatbelt in place and awkwardly groping for the truck's gear shift to put it in drive. 

It had been months since I'd driven any vehicle, usually the Wooding siblings dropped me off places while out running errands or travelling to work. It felt wrong to be driving Matt's truck. It had been their grandfather's and Matt was extremely protective of the beat up truck. 

As the truck began to sluggishly move, I looked up to see the other driver talking to EMS, standing with his arms crossed. The morbid thought of running the asshole over crossed my mind, but I brushed it off. The man seemed unharmed aside from some cuts and bruises, I couldn't help the flash of rage that jumped to the back of my throat. 

Stifling my rage, I turned the aging pickup towards the intersection and started my nervous drive to the hospital.