Baby Jane

I opened up my eyes and I could feel the snow falling on my face. The gun powdery smell from the airbags crawled into my lungs. I winced as I tried to move my arm and realized I couldn’t. I looked to the left of me to see Jane smashed between the steering wheel and her seat.

“Jane?” I said quietly. “Please don’t be dead. Fucking please.”

She didn’t move.

I looked down at my body. My legs weren’t stuck but my arm was pinned between the door and my seat. I reached over with my other arm and gripped the handle, popping it open. The door fell open and crashed against the barrier. I jumped slightly and fell out of the car into a pile of snow, sobbing.

I got up as quickly as I could and went over to the other side of the car, slipping and sliding on the ice. I yanked on the handle to Jane’s door and pulled it open. Her seat belt rested against the door, not over her body. I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, her head lolled to the side.

I put my hands on either side of her face. “Jane. Jane.” I sobbed. “Say something. Please.”

She didn’t say a word.

I pulled her out of the car and into my lap, crying into her bloody hair. We were in the middle of nowhere. My toes started to go numb. I started to shiver. I could feel nothing but the ache of heartache. I couldn’t live without Jane, I realized.

My tears froze before they even reached my chin.

And I fell asleep.

And in the morning, when the sun rose and a man driving a semi pulled over, he found both of us. Jane dead in my arms, and me dead, frozen against the door of the car. And when they called someone to come get us, the paramedics grabbed a picture off the dashboard.

Of us. Just a day before that. So perfect and so happy. And that’s how our friends will remember us, because that’s all they saw. They didn’t see us fighting; they don’t know why we wrecked.

They’ll never know that when we said we couldn’t live without each other, we really meant it.

They’ll never know that this was all my fault.