CH6: Back when it was all safe and sound Part 2

The music was blaring, the bass thudding so hard it made my stomach churn. My senior cranked up the volume even more, and each beat felt like it was rattling inside my skull. I tried to focus, but the alcohol was making everything hazy.

We were heading to my senior's house for an after-party, to meet up with more people. I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to go, but at that moment, I was just going with the flow, too drunk and detached to think clearly.

The bottle of hard liquor passed around, and I watched them take sips, all of them clearly more wasted than I was. What began as drunken laughter and loud banter quickly escalated into chaos. I noticed that my senior, the driver, was also drinking, and my heart dropped.

The speedometer kept climbing. Faster. Faster.

We hit a rough patch on the road, and the car bounced unnervingly. The uneven surface was jarring, making my stomach lurch, but no one seemed to care. It was late, nearly midnight, and the streets were empty, save for the occasional car or flickering streetlight.

Then, without warning, the car struck a deep pothole.

Thud.

A sudden, deafening sound. The tires screeched violently. The music cut out, replaced by the sound of tires squealing as the driver tried to regain control. My vision blurred and doubled, and for a moment, everything seemed to slow down. Time felt distorted.

The laughter turned to screams. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as the car swerved uncontrollably, the steering wheel jerking back and forth in the driver's desperate hands.

Everything spun wildly around me. The world outside the window smeared into a dizzying blur of darkness and headlights.

My breath hitched in my throat, and a wave of pure, cold terror washed over me. Then, there was a sickening jolt—an impact.

When I regained consciousness, everything was upside down. My mind struggled to process what had happened, but my body felt it—a deep, throbbing pain coursed through me, making every movement agonizing. My seatbelt was the only thing keeping me from being thrown out of the car, and the pressure of it digging into my chest felt like a lifeline and a prison all at once. My head throbbed, and my vision was blurry, as if I were seeing the world through fogged glass.

It took everything in me to steady my breath and steel myself. I fumbled for the seatbelt latch and, with shaky fingers, released it. My body tumbled downward, crashing into shards of broken glass scattered across the car’s shattered interior. I expected pain, but I felt nothing— whether it was the adrenaline or shock, I couldn’t tell.

The car was a mangled mess, its metal frame bent and crushed like an empty can. The roof, miraculously, hadn't completely caved in. The windows were shattered, glass everywhere. The smell of burnt rubber and gasoline filled the air, and my stomach twisted in revulsion.

I crawled through one of the broken windows, my limbs weak and unsteady. As I stood up, my legs wobbled beneath me, threatening to give way. The world spun in slow, nauseating circles, and I had to fight to keep my balance. My head still pounded, the alcohol and crash disorienting me further.

Blinking, I tried to make sense of my surroundings. The streetlights flickered dimly, casting an eerie glow on the wreckage. The night was unnervingly quiet, the only sounds being the faint hum of distant cars and the ringing in my ears.

I scanned the area, searching desperately for the others. Where were they? Panic gnawed at my insides as I stumbled forward. Then, in the distance, I saw a figure lying motionless on the ground.

I hurried over, my breath shallow and ragged, only to find a woman, unconscious. She wore a hoodie and a skirt—someone I didn’t recognize. Her face was bruised, swollen, and streaked with blood. My heart plummeted as I knelt beside her, desperately trying to wake her.

"Hey, are you okay?" My voice was shaky, almost pleading, but she didn’t respond.

There was something wet beneath her. Blood. A lot of it.

“No... no, please wake up!” I shook her gently, my hands trembling as I tried to rouse her, but

she remained still.

The weight of everything hit me all at once—the pain in my body, the fear, the guilt. I felt sick. Desperate. I screamed for help, my voice hoarse and breaking, but the night swallowed my cries. There was no one around. No one to help us.

"Help us! Somebody, please!" I yelled, again and again, but nothing. No response.

I began to feel the creeping pain in every muscle, every bone. My limbs grew heavier, and the world around me started to blur. The weight of it all was too much. I tried to stay conscious, to keep fighting, but the darkness was pulling me under.

As my vision faded and the world grew quiet, I collapsed beside the woman, my thoughts slipping into blackness.

When I woke up, everything felt like a blur. The white ceiling of the hospital room came into focus slowly, and the sterile scent of antiseptic filled my nostrils. My body felt like it had been run over by a truck—no part of me was free from pain. My head throbbed, my arms and legs were heavy, and my chest felt tight as if I had been suffocating in my sleep.

The first thing I saw was my mom sitting beside me, clutching my hand with reddened eyes. My dad was standing near the window, staring out blankly as if lost in thought, and my older sister sat in the corner of the room, arms crossed, her expression a mix of frustration and concern.

"You're awake..." my mom said, her voice cracking with emotion. She smiled through her tears, though the exhaustion in her face was evident. "Thank God... we thought..."

I tried to speak, but my throat felt raw. After a few seconds of painful swallowing, I managed to croak out, "What... happened?"

"You've been unconscious for two weeks," my dad said, his voice low and strained. "The car

accident... you were in it. You’ve been through surgeries—your leg was broken, three ribs were

fractured, and there was a head injury. But you’re stable now."

Two weeks. I had lost two weeks of my life. The weight of that settled over me like a suffocating

blanket. But before I could ask more, my father’s face darkened.

"After the accident," he began, his voice shaking, "there was... there was a woman. She survived but now in coma."

His words hit me like a brick to the chest. A woman? She’s in coma? My mind immediately flashed to the girl in the hoodie—the one I had tried to wake up. The blood beneath her, the way she wasn’t moving.

I couldn’t breathe.

I shot up in bed, only to be forced back down by the searing pain that shot through my ribs. My

mom cried out, "Stop, don’t move! You’ll hurt yourself!"

"Wh-who...?" I stammered, my voice hoarse, mind racing. "What happened?"

But before they could answer, the door opened, and two police officers walked in, their presence heavy and formal. I froze. The tension in the room was suffocating.

They began asking questions—what I remembered about the night of the accident. How much I had to drink, who was in the car with me, and, more importantly, who was driving.

"It wasn’t me," I told them, my voice trembling. "I wasn’t driving. I was in the back seat. My

senior was driving."

They exchanged a look before one of them spoke. "According to the statements we've gathered, the other four passengers have all pointed to you as the driver that night."

My heart stopped.

"What? No! That's not true!" I could feel my pulse skyrocketing as panic set in. "I wasn’t driving!

My senior—he was! His girlfriend was in the passenger seat, and I was in the back!"

"We understand that’s what you’re saying, but all of them claim you were behind the wheel," one of the officers said calmly, but there was a note of finality in his voice, as if they had already made up their minds.

My head spun. Betrayal settled in like a heavy weight in my gut. They had all turned on me. The people I had partied with, laughed with—trusted—were now framing me for a crime I didn’t commit. Rage bubbled up inside me, but I was too weak to do anything but lie there, feeling the hot sting of tears welling up in my eyes.

"I swear to God, I wasn’t driving!" I shouted, ignoring the pain that flared up in my body. "I was in the back seat! You can’t just believe them!"

The officers didn’t respond immediately. One of them pulled out a notebook and jotted something down before the other spoke again. "There were no traffic cameras that clearly captured the driver, and the accident occurred in a dark area, so it’s been difficult to find solid evidence. Right now, all we have are witness statements. We’ll keep investigating."

I felt like the ground had just been ripped out from under me. They didn’t have clear proof, but

they still acted like my guilt was already set in stone. They were just going through the motions.

That’s when it hit me—Rikka. She had seen me get into the back seat of the car. She was there

that night. She knew I wasn’t driving.

"Ask Rikka!" I blurted out, desperation creeping into my voice. "She saw me! I wasn’t driving!

She saw me get into the back seat before the car even moved!"

The officers exchanged another glance. One of them scribbled something down in their notebook before the other spoke again.

"We’ve already spoken to Rikka," he said, his voice measured. "She said she didn’t see anything clearly. She’s not able to provide a statement that could help your case."

My world collapsed.

Rikka—the one person who could have helped me, who could have saved me—had turned her back on me. She saw me, we even said our goodbyes that night, and yet… she chose to stay silent. I couldn’t understand it. Why would she do that? Why wouldn’t she speak up for me?

The room felt like it was spinning. The betrayal, the anger, the sheer helplessness—it was suffocating.

Over the next few days, everything seemed to spiral out of control. The news of the accident had spread far and wide. My name was being dragged through the mud. My so-called friends from the accident had thrown me under the bus, blaming me for everything. Even though I was still recovering, police officers came in and out of the hospital, asking more questions, their suspicions clear in every interaction.

My family, who had always been proud of me, were starting to look at me differently. My sister, who I wasn’t close with, barely spoke to me, and when she did, it was with disgust in her eyes. I could see the exhaustion in my parents' faces—how the weight of everything was crushing them.

I was a burden. A disgrace.

Everything I had worked for, everything I had done to change myself and be someone better—it all crumbled away. My life became a nightmare. I couldn’t escape the guilt, the pain, and the sense of betrayal that followed me like a shadow.

I lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing more than anything that I could disappear. That I could turn back time. I wanted to go back to the moment before I got into that car, before everything went wrong. But I couldn’t. I was trapped in this hell, and I had no idea how to escape.

The days stretched on, and every minute felt like a lifetime.

After I was discharged from the hospital, I was under temporary observation by the police. Officially, I was still innocent in the eyes of the law, but it didn’t feel like it. The investigation dragged on, and while I wasn’t in custody, I was trapped in a prison of my own making.

When I returned home, I shut myself off from the world. For a week, I stayed in my room,

completely disconnected from my family. My parents and sister didn’t know how to approach me anymore. Meals were left in front of my door, but I didn’t have the energy to speak to anyone. The weight of everything that had happened was too much to bear. I spent my days playing video games—anything to distract me from the reality of what had happened. Every time I tried to close my eyes, the accident replayed in my mind. The car. The chaos. The

woman’s lifeless body.

And then there was Rikka.

I called her again and again—hundreds of calls. Each time, it either rang endlessly or went straight to voicemail. I sent her dozens of messages, but they were always just seen and never answered. I couldn’t understand why she was avoiding me, why she wouldn’t help clear my

name. It didn’t make sense. She had been there, she saw me get into the back seat—she knew I

wasn’t driving. But still… nothing.

One night, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to know why. Why had she abandoned me like this?

I needed to hear it from her own lips.

I sneaked out of the house, taking care not to wake my family. I walked to Rikka’s

neighborhood, waiting outside for her to return from her classes. Hours passed, but I stayed.

And then, finally, I saw her. She was walking down the street, headphones in her ears, her usual confident stride reduced to a slow, almost hesitant walk.

I ran to her, calling out her name. She stopped but didn’t look at me.

"Rikka, why?" I demanded, my voice trembling with desperation. "Why didn’t you tell them the

truth? You saw me that night! You know I wasn’t driving."

She didn’t say anything at first. She just looked down, her gaze fixed on the ground. Her silence

was suffocating, and the longer it stretched, the more my heart broke.

“Please,” I begged, my voice cracking. “Just tell the truth. You said you loved me. You said we’d be together... Why are you doing this to me?”

Still, nothing.

Finally, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

That was all she said before she turned and ran, leaving me standing there in the cold, shattered.

Her words—those two empty words—echoed in my mind, and my legs gave out beneath me. I dropped to my knees, tears streaming down my face. The pain in my chest was unbearable. It wasn’t just the betrayal of my so-called friends—it was her. The one person I thought I could trust, the one person I thought loved me. She had abandoned me when I needed her the most.

I stumbled home, my body shaking with sobs. I didn’t care if anyone saw me. I didn’t care about

anything anymore. Everything I had built, everything I had worked for, had crumbled to dust.

For the next few days, I felt like a dead man walking. I stopped trying to make sense of what had happened. I stopped trying to reach out to anyone. I was alone, and I had to accept that.

Then, one morning, I was summoned to the police station. At that point, I didn’t even care what

the outcome was. I had lost the will to fight.

But when I arrived, the truth was finally revealed.

The DNA analysis had come back, and it proved that I hadn’t been the one driving that night. It wasn’t my DNA on the steering wheel—it was my senior’s. On top of that, drug tests had been conducted, and the results showed that I was clean, while the other four had tested positive. They had been under the influence the whole time. The driver—my senior—was finally identified as the one responsible for the accident, and the others were implicated as well.

The police assured me that justice would be served. The four of them would face the consequences of their actions, and my name would be cleared.

But none of that mattered to me.

Yes, I was innocent. Yes, I wouldn’t go to jail for something I didn’t do. But the damage had already been done. I had lost everything—my friends, my reputation, and worst of all, my trust in the people I cared about.

Rikka, the girl I had loved for years, the one I had changed my entire life for, had abandoned me in my darkest hour. She hadn’t come forward to help me, and I couldn’t understand why. Her silence was louder than any words she could have spoken.

I didn’t feel relieved. I didn’t feel vindicated.

I felt hollow. Empty.

Even though I was alive, I wasn’t living. I was just... existing.

The tension at home never seemed to ease. Every moment in the house was suffocating, and I could feel the weight of my family's quiet judgment, especially from my older sister. She still looked at me with disgust, as if I was something broken and irredeemable. My parents, though they tried to act normal, couldn't hide the strain either. My dad had returned to work, my mom back to her usual routine, but whenever I was around, the silence was heavy and uncomfortable.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

One night, I decided to leave. I packed a few essentials—clothes, my phone, and whatever savings I had left. Before I walked out, I left a note on the kitchen table. It was a simple message, but one that I hoped would give them some peace:

"I’m leaving the house. Please don’t try to find me. I’ll come back when I’ve figured things out. Thank you for everything. I’m sorry… for everything. Sorry for what I’ve done."

And then I was gone.

I took the train, heading somewhere—anywhere—that wasn’t home. I didn’t have a specific destination in mind. I just needed to be away, far enough that I could start to feel like myself again, or at least figure out who I was now.

For a while, I moved from town to town, staying in cheap hostels and scraping by. But eventually, my savings ran dry. I had nothing left, no money, no home. I became homeless,

living on the streets and finding corners to sleep in where no one would notice. My last bit of money went to food, and even that was running out fast. I had hit rock bottom.

One day, as I sat on the curb of a busy street, feeling utterly defeated, something happened that would change my life.

A little girl, maybe six or seven years old, ran out into the street, completely oblivious to the oncoming traffic. Time seemed to slow as I saw a car speeding towards her, the driver not noticing in time to stop.

Without thinking, I jumped up and ran after her. In that moment, I didn’t care if I got hurt. After everything I’d been through, maybe it didn’t matter if I died. But the girl… she had her whole life ahead of her.

I ran faster than I ever had in my life. Just as the car was about to hit her, I grabbed her and pulled her back. We fell hard onto the sidewalk, the impact knocking the wind out of me, but she was safe. That was all that mattered.

I lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, my body aching from the adrenaline and the fall. A woman’s scream broke through my haze as the girl’s family came running over. The mother scooped the child into her arms, sobbing in relief, while the father bent down to help me up.

"Thank you, thank you so much!" they kept saying over and over, their voices trembling with gratitude.

I brushed it off, trying to stand despite my legs wobbling beneath me. "It’s nothing, really. Just… be careful next time," I mumbled, feeling dizzy and still somewhat numb to everything around me.

But they weren’t just grateful—they were insistent. The father introduced himself as a businessman, someone with wealth and influence that I couldn’t even begin to understand. As I tried to walk away, he stopped me and asked how he could repay me.

At first, I said I didn’t need anything. After all, I wasn’t expecting anything in return for saving the girl’s life. But he pressed me again, and as he looked me over, probably noticing my shabby appearance and the tiredness etched into my face, he offered something I couldn’t refuse.

A place to stay.

He gave me the keys to a small apartment he owned, said it wasn’t much, but that it was fully furnished and that I could stay there rent-free for as long as I needed. He even handed me an envelope full of cash—enough to cover food, clothes, and basic necessities for the next few months.

I couldn’t believe what had just happened. It was like some kind of miracle had dropped into my lap out of nowhere. I had been ready to give up, to let the world swallow me whole, but in saving that little girl, my life had taken a completely different turn.

Suddenly, I had a chance to start over. A real chance.

And maybe, just maybe, this was the universe’s way of telling me that despite everything, despite the betrayal, the loss, and the pain, I wasn’t finished yet.