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.