Love Is Louder
Authors: Antoinette Candela,Paige Maroney
Love is Louder
Copyright © 2015 by Antoinette Candela
Cover by Wicked by Design,
www.facebook.com/WickedByDesignRobinHarper
Photo: Tomasz Zienkiewicz,
www.zieniu.pl
Edited by Paige Maroney
Interior Design by Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing,
www.unforeseenediting.com
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Love Is Louder
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
To my babies.
You are the reason why I breathe, why I live, why I smile, why I love.
You inspire me every day.
“HEARTS ARE WILD CREATURES, THAT’S WHY OUR RIBS ARE CAGES.”
My hands grasp the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles are the color of freshly fallen snow, and the veins in my hands pulse with agitation. Checking the time, I calculate my journey and how long it will take me. Ten minutes if I’m lucky.
Time is precious. Drawing a deep breath that does nothing to calm me, I hit the gas and push my way through the little bit of traffic. I swerve past a cluster of departing cars as worry plagues me. I clutch the steering wheel tighter; my bloodless fingertips tingle with tension. The hammer of my heart kicks up as the dial on the speedometer continues to rise. Adrenaline races over the fear that has settled in my bones.
The glow of the city lights disappears and darkness encompasses me, leaving my mind free to conjure up the worst possible scenarios. Ten minutes later, I pull up to the location, and my eyes spot a dented car parked at the side of the road, hidden under the eerie silhouette of trees. The bumper is mangled, and the passenger side mirror is shattered with fragments of glass sprinkling the ground. Rockets of anxiety shoot through my limbs, and my heart pumps like a demonic thing in my chest as I glance over my shoulder for passing cars.
After mere seconds pass, the door opens, and a silhouette emerges from the vehicle in question. My back goes rigid.
What the fuck?
Panicking, I shoot out of my car and scrutinize the drunken figure with distressed eyes about fifteen yards away. I abruptly search all around me. I smell the pungent stench of alcohol on their breath. A slight balmy July breeze touches my skin, the sounds of crickets fill my ears, and the scent of something tangy invades my nose, replacing the unpleasant odor of liquor as I walk toward the car.
My eyes burn and my body grows numb with dread as the scene becomes clearer. An unresponsive body lies on the cold asphalt like a neglected doll, a forgotten toy. My heart crashes against my ribs, and my pulse rages, filling my ears.
I glance over at the shadowy figure shrouded in darkness. My body is shaking with fear, and an aching coldness pierces me to my very bones. Sucking in a deep breath, I swallow, trying hard to work loose my throat.
“What the hell happened?” I croak as quickly as I can force out. I rush past in a race against the clock. This isn’t good. “What the fuck did you do?” I ask, hearing their frantic, unsteady footsteps following close behind me.
“I.... Oh my god...” The words are lost in the humid air, a faint echo in the distance.
I don’t wait for the answer. I wouldn’t hear it over the loud thrumming of my heart anyway. My mind can’t comprehend it. I start rejecting this reality. I’m dreaming. This can’t be real. My mind wants me to scream, but nothing can reverse what has happened.
Swallowing back the bile in my throat, I bend over the body and recognize the blonde hair and the heart-shaped face. I fall to my knees and cradle her in my trembling arms. “Please...please…stay with me. Please…please.... be strong...be strong,” I whisper over and over again as the tears break from my eyes.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I don’t think Meadow hears me.
I pry my groggy eyes open, my gaze darting around my sparsely furnished bedroom. The ceiling above me turns pink, purple, and then yellow from the blazing summer sun bleeding through the open bay window. I pull myself up on my elbows and scrub my palm over my face as the sun warms my skin. Sounds of a typical summer morning in my neighborhood—the rumble of a lawnmower and a dog barking next door—carry through the air
Today is a going to be a good day.
That’s what I want to believe.
I close my eyes again and fall back onto my comfortable king-sized bed. I had a dream last night. A nightmare. In it, the phone was ringing. Meadow’s number flashed across the screen, but I couldn’t answer it. I reached for it, trying to get closer. The flashing, the ringing, but I didn’t get to it in time. It died. Stopped. Just like it did four years ago. I didn’t fall back asleep after that, not for a while. Spotting the bottle of whiskey sitting next to my bed, I realize I needed assistance getting to sleep.
I roll over, grab my cell off the bedside table, and see that it’s nine o’clock. No missed calls. I try to take all my calls now, even if I don’t recognize the number. You don’t know who it could be or what could be happening. You just have to be prepared for anything. I learned that the hard way when I lost my sister. Haunting moments from that night flash and burn fresh into my mind like it all happened yesterday.
Jumping into my truck.
My heart pounding inside my chest.
A harrowing drive to the hospital that lasted much too long.
Anxiety and guilt. So much guilt.
The sterile hospital.
The frantic doctors.