Chapter 24 LIVING THE NIGHTMARE 2
Jaxon's POV
I sat quietly in the back seat of the car, my gaze fixed on the passing darkness outside the window. The night was eerily silent, and the cool breeze brushed against the glass like a ghost whispering in the dark.
And then I saw it-a large white truck barreling straight toward us.
Before I could even shout a warning to Troy, the collision hit. Our car slammed into the truck, metal shrieking, and the world spun out of control as the vehicle tumbled violently down the hill.
Pain exploded through my skull like a grenade. I gasped, forcing my eyes open, only to be met by the sight I feared most.
Just like when I was twelve.
My mother-still strapped to her seat-her head bleeding, blood dripping down her pale face like tears. A tightness gripped my chest. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move.
I was trapped again.
Paralyzed by fear.
Trapped in my seat.
Chained to my nightmare.
My vision blurred. My lungs ached. I was drowning in the past, in helplessness, in horror-until I jolted awake with a gasp, clawing at the air like I couldn't breathe.
Sweating profusely, my heart racing, I stumbled to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. I gulped it down, hoping it would bring me back to reality. But it didn't.
I could still feel the crash. Still hear the metal crushing around me. Still see her.
With trembling legs, I made my way to the living room and collapsed onto the couch, my head spinning, my breath shaky.
PTSD.
It had been getting worse lately.
Maybe because I'd started cutting down on my meds. Maybe because the past had finally caught up to me.
Unable to take it anymore, I headed back to my room and pulled out the little white container from my bag. My hands shook as I twisted the lid off and threw four pills into my mouth, swallowing them quickly with water.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, burying my face into my palms, waiting-waiting for the drugs to dull the edge, to slow the storm.
Minutes passed.
My heart began to slow. My breath evened out.
When I finally looked up, I reached for my phone. 2:00 a.m.
It hadn't even been three hours since I'd laid down to rest.
I grabbed my laptop, reading glasses, and phone before heading back into the living room. Sleep wasn't coming back.
Not tonight.
And maybe not for a while.
I stared at the file open in front of my laptop, but I could barely focus.
My mind was everywhere-scattered from the weight of the day and the haunting echoes of my nightmare.
Forcing myself to concentrate, I began analyzing the financial records from each of our hotels, trying to distract myself with numbers. But again, I couldn't focus.
Every few seconds, my thoughts drifted off-pulling me back into the chaos in my head.
Frustrated, I shut the laptop and reached for my phone, deciding a walk might help.
Troy and I had arrived in Brentmere at midnight and checked into a hotel since it was too late for anything else.
Meeting the Shadows had already been stressful enough to trigger my PTSD-and I hated every second of it.
I threw on some clothes, pulled my hoodie up to cover my face, and made my way to the elevator in silence.
The night air outside the hotel was still and cool as I started down the street, hoping the fresh air would help clear my head.
But then it happened-suddenly and violently.
A small private car sped past and veered straight into a tree. The impact was deafening, the screech of tires and the final, crushing blow leaving me frozen in place.
It happened so fast I barely processed it.
I instinctively rushed toward the wreck, along with a few passersby who had seen it too.
Panic filled the air as people tried to break the windows open to reach whoever was inside.
I hesitated for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest.
The scene-it didn't sit right with me. It looked too familiar.
Too personal.
I was about to turn around, to walk away from the nightmare playing out in front of me... until I saw them still struggling to crack the window.
I clenched my jaw, swallowed hard, and stepped forward.
"We need to break the window!" someone shouted. "There's a woman and a kid trapped inside, and the engine's filling up the car with smoke!"
Everyone was looking around frantically, but there was nothing nearby strong enough to shatter the glass.
Without thinking, I stepped closer and drove my elbow into the passenger-side window, which was already cracked from the impact.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
On the fifth hit, the glass finally shattered to the ground.
Thick smoke poured out.
I leaned in and quickly unstrapped the little boy seated next to the unconscious woman.
He looked about three or four years old, and as soon as I lifted him out, he burst into tears.
That sound-the raw, terrified wail of a child-was the only assurance I needed that he was still alive.
I passed him into the arms of a young woman nearby, who immediately began checking him for injuries and calming him down while others dialed the emergency hotline.
Another man reached in and gently pulled the woman out of the car.
She was limp. Motionless.
I couldn't breathe.
I had to get away from the scene.
I stumbled a few feet back, my pulse hammering in my ears.
I tried to breathe in deeply, but it felt like the air was too thin, like I was choking on the past.
It was just like then.
Just like when I was twelve.
That same helplessness. That same fear.
Every time I looked at the woman lying still on the pavement, I saw her.
My mother-hanging upside down, blood trickling down her face, her body lifeless and broken.
The image was carved deep into my memory, and no matter how much time passed...
It always came back.
It was a nightmare I had to live with.