Prayer of Gratitude

Warning: Gore and Trauma

- DEX -

I'm staring out the window, unable to concentrate, thinking of my father and of Lawson and of what is required of me here now. Maybe I will end up needing an assistant to keep me on task, because words are just blurring impossibly on the screen—accounts and clients and employees and projects and so much of it feeling like a huge weight that is descending, threatening to crush me if I can't get a firm grip on all of it quickly.

The city is always moving—like a creature in many ways. A creature that doesn't sleep. Or like the ocean. Watching people walking and going about their days is not nearly as calming as the ocean, but the movement is constant. You can easily get lost in thoughts while it keeps going on without you—a constant reassurance that despite what personal tragedies may happen in your life, the world will continue.

And then suddenly I catch sight of her. Auraya is staring down at the notebook in her hands, waiting at the crosswalk the next block over. My heart lifts the moment I recognize her, but then the scene quickly turns into something out of a horror film. Or a nightmare—one where you're trapped, unable to yell for the other person to look up or unable to stop the terror unfolding right before your eyes.

I see the SUV coming long before the accident happens. It doesn't slow down despite the light changing, and I'm waiting for it to slam on its breaks when the driver finally realizes their mistake, but it doesn't happen. Instead, a little old woman is hit at full speed, her body appearing to fall under the front end of the vehicle.

"Fuck," I curse to myself. It looks like Auraya may have been hit as well, but I can't see her from this angle.

I curse again and run out into the larger office area, shouting for someone to call an ambulance because there was an accident. Every one of their faces turns or lifts my way, but they're all frozen—staring in shock, so many wide eyes not registering what I've said.

"Someone was hit by a car. Call 911!" I urge them, hoping someone will understand what I'm saying and actually do it. Then I rush toward the door, taking steps three or four at a time and running out onto the sidewalk.

The sight is gruesome. There is very little left of that old woman. The fucking SUV was going full speed, completely unaware of the red light, and now the man behind the wheel is frozen just like my office workers—sitting there unmoving, staring out the windshield.

"You just killed someone!" I growl, slamming my hands against his window and making him jump and turn to look at me like a deer in headlights who fears for his life rather than a killer himself.

When I make it to the other side of his vehicle, Raya is on the street covered in gashes on her arms and legs and one on the top of her head where she must have run into the side of the SUV. Her blouse is covered in splotches of blood. Her things are scattered all around her while people just stand there, watching.

A silent prayer of gratitude takes flight from my chest—I can feel its wings as it ascends and the relief that is left in its absence. Raya is hurt but she's alive. And why that means everything in the world to me right now doesn't matter. I'll figure that out later.

When I put my jacket over her shoulders and lift her chin, I can tell she's in shock. Fuck. Why did I send her to Moxie? If I hadn't done that, this wouldn't have happened. She can't get hit by a car when she's sitting outside my office.

Apparently Lawson followed me out, because he comes around the other side of her, picking up her things and attempting to hand them to her like she isn't injured and completely out of it, so I take them from him instead. It's a nice gesture, but it also makes it obvious just how deeply unaware he is of other people's emotional states.

"I'm going to take her to the hospital," I tell him, urgently wishing to get her away from him and everyone else who is now simply going on about their lives, staring at her and the bloody spectacle of the accident for a moment before moving on to the next thing.

"An ambulance is coming," he says, one eyebrow angling up in question at my choice.

An ambulance is going to take forever getting here through traffic, and then Raya's going to be sitting in the back of it for who knows how long while they deal with the much more urgent matter of the old woman who has been hit.

"My truck is parked right here. It will be faster."

Without waiting for approval from my dumbass brother, I steer her across the street toward my truck, keeping her trembling form close so she doesn't fall. She isn't at all steady and doesn't seem able to make sense of what's happening yet—all of which is common in psychological shock. I've seen it before… several times. Raya will probably be out of it for some time. I'm kind of surprised she isn't completely losing it right now.

When I open the passenger door for her, she just stands there and looks at the interior.

"Raya, can you get in? Or do you need help?"

Her blue eyes lift to mine—questioning and unsure and terrified—and I have to swallow back the emotion that instantly surges into my throat. Instead of waiting for her answer, I grab her arm to support her while she climbs up and in, and then I close the door gently behind her.

While I'm walking around the back of the truck, I have to take a few deep breaths—breaths that she stole with just that one look. Damn, I am in so much trouble with this woman. I don't know why, but it's clear. Something has brought us together that is quickly threading her into my heart, and it makes no sense at all. What I do know is that it's going to be so fucking painful to tear those threads out when the time comes.