Chapter 1: Trucked

The glow of my monitor casts a dark light over my cubicle as I scroll through yet another chapter. A gruff female yakuza boss is currently manhandling her submissive male love interest. It's ridiculous, but I'm hooked.

"Yo, Adam!"

I nearly jump out of my skin, minimizing the window with lightning speed. Connor's leaning over my cubicle wall, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"Dude, you scared the crap out of me," I mutter, trying to play it cool.

Connor's eyes narrow suspiciously. "Bro, are you still reading that weird reverse world story?"

"Yeah, dude, I know it's slop, but I'm addicted to this shit."

Connor lets out a hearty laugh and slaps my back, nearly sending me face-first into my keyboard. "Did you read that one I sent you last night?"

I blink, trying to remember. "Uh, no, not yet. I'm not really into furry stuff, man."

Connor shakes his head, looking at me like I'm the dumbest guy in the office. "Nah, dude, it's not furry. It's monster girls." He leans in closer, lowering his voice. "You know, like that moth girl yandere hentai you like, or that slime girl yandere hentai you're always going on about."

"Oh dude, I love slime girls," I say, eyes lighting up. "They're like, the ultimate shapeshifters, you know? Endless possibilities."

Connor laughs. "No, dude, I know. You never shut up about them."

I lean back in my chair, a mocking smile spreading across my face. "Dude, if I dated a slime girl, while I was fucking her, I'd have her take the form of your sister."

Connor doesn't even flinch. "If I was fucking a slime girl, I'd make her take the form of your dad and turn him into a whimpering mess. Then I'd send you pictures."

I laugh so hard I nearly fall out of my chair. "Nooooo!" I jokingly yell. "Too far, bro," I say, feigning an upset tone.

"Hey, you started it," Connor shrugs, still grinning. "Anyway, you gotta check out this new story. It's got everything moth girls, caterpillar girls, reverse rape. It's peak as fuck, dude."

"Sounds like my kind of story," I admit. "I'll give it a look tonight."

I stand up, stretching my arms over my head. "Man, we gotta go soon."

I wander over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing out at the twinkling Boston skyline. From the 22nd floor, the city looks like a glittering circuit board, all neon veins and pulsing light.

Connor joins me, his reflection ghostly in the glass. "Dude, did you hear about that truck that ran through the school the other day? Killed some poor kid. Just got fucking crumpled in the wheel well."

I nod solemnly. "Yeah, that's nuts. Fucking tragic." I pause, then add, "Speaking of vehicular mayhem, did you hear about the truck that flew through the 11th floor of an apartment building?"

"Yeah, dude, it's wild," Connor says, shaking his head. "Like, how does that even happen?"

"I know, right?" I say. "Imagine just chilling in your living room, watching TV, and suddenly there's a Mack truck that just absolutely 9/11's you. Did they ever figure out what happened?"

"Nah, dude, they said it was just a freak accident," Connor replies, scratching his chin.

I let out a low whistle. "Damn, that's wild. At least there's no way a truck could get up this high."

We both fall silent, staring out at the cityscape. A full minute passes as we hold our breath, half-expecting a semi to come crashing through the glass. When nothing happens, we burst out laughing.

"Dude, I thought you just jinxed us," Connor wheezes, clutching his sides.

"No, dude, that's not realistic," I say, shaking my head. "A truck would need wings to get up here. Or, like, a giant catapult."

"Or a really determined driver," Connor adds with a grin.

I snort. "Yeah, sure. 'Excuse me, coming through! Gotta deliver these pallets to the 22nd floor!'"

We're both cackling now, drawing concerned looks from the few remaining coworkers.

"Alright, let's go home," I say, wiping tears from my eyes. "This monster girl story won't read itself."

As I grab my jacket, I hear Connor scream, "Adam, move…"

Before he can finish, an earth-shattering crash drowns out his words. The world explodes into chaos as a semi-truck smashes through the window on the other side of the building. Time seems to slow as I watch the impossible scene unfold.

Shards of glass fly towards me like a glittering storm. I instinctively raise my arms to shield my face, but it's too late. The glass peppers my skin, a thousand tiny cuts blooming across my body.

I don't even have time to process the pain before the truck is upon me. Its massive grille fills my vision, a wall of chrome and steel bearing down with unstoppable force. In that frozen moment, I have the absurd thought that this must be how a bug feels before it hits a windshield.

Then impact.

The truck strikes me with the force of a freight train. I'm dimly aware of being lifted off my feet, carried along by the truck's momentum.

Everything goes black.

There's no pain, no sensation at all. Just a vast, empty darkness enveloping me.

'To think I'd also got 9/11'd by a truck. It's a cruel world.'

*****

I gasp, sucking in air like I've been underwater for hours. My eyes fly open, blinking rapidly against the harsh fluorescent light. The sterile smell of disinfectant fills my nostrils.

"Oh my god, I'm alive," I croak, my voice raspy from disuse. My hands instinctively move to my face, probing gingerly. There's a dull ache, but to my shock, I feel no cuts or scars.

"Adam, you're awake!" A familiar voice exclaims, thick with emotion.

I turn my head, wincing at the stiffness in my neck. Jessica, my sister, is there, her usually immaculate appearance slightly disheveled. Her green eyes are wide with relief and brimming with unshed tears.

Before I can react, she's across the room in a flash, enveloping me in a fierce hug. "Oh my god, they weren't sure if you'd wake up," she chokes out, her body shaking slightly against mine.

"Whoa, easy there, sis," I wheeze. "I'm pretty sure a flying truck isn't strong enough to kill your brother."

Jessica pulls back, wiping her eyes. "What?"

As I'm about to explain, movement at the door catches my eye. A woman I don't recognize walks in, clutching a candy bar. Her eyes widen when she sees me, and the snack slips from her fingers, clattering to the floor.

"Oh my god, Adam!" she cries, rushing over to me. Jessica moves aside, but I notice her eyeing the newcomer nervously.

Before I can react, the woman throws her arms around me, sobbing into my chest. "I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry," she wails, squeezing me tightly.

I wince, my bruised body protesting the embrace. "Uh, thanks?" I manage, utterly confused. "I'm sorry, but... who are you?"

The woman freezes, then slowly pulls back, her tear-streaked face a mask of shock and hurt. "Adam... it's me. Claire."

I stare at her for what feels like an eternity, my mind racing to process this. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across her face, accentuating the worry lines etched around her eyes. Her short hair, a rich chestnut brown, falls in messy waves around her neck. She's dressed in a rumpled blouse and skirt like she's been living in the hospital for days.

As I study her features, fragmented memories start to surface. A young girl with pigtails and braces, laughing as we chase fireflies.

"Oh my god," I finally yell out. "Claire Anderson. Yeah, we were friends growing up."

Her face lights up for a moment, hope flickering in her eyes.

"You look good," I add lamely, not sure what else to say. "Why are you here though?"

The hope in her eyes shatters, replaced by a fresh wave of tears. They spill down her cheeks, leaving glistening trails in their wake. Her lower lip trembles as she struggles to form words.

"Adam," she chokes out, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm your wife. We've been married for two years."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I go pale, feeling the blood drain from my face. The room starts to spin, and I grip the edges of the hospital bed to steady myself. I can hear the heart monitor pick up, its steady beeping becoming more frantic, matching the pounding in my chest.

"What?" I manage to gasp out, my eyes darting between Claire and Jessica, desperately seeking some kind of explanation. But Jessica just stands there, her expression a mix of pity and concern.

"What? No, that can't be right," I stammer, my mind reeling. "We stopped talking in high school, remember?"

I trail off, noticing the looks of concern deepening on both women's faces. Claire's lower lip quivers, fresh tears welling up in her eyes.

Jessica steps forward, her brow furrowed. "Adam, I was there. At your wedding. Two years ago. You two were definitely married."

I shake my head vigorously, wincing at the dull ache that blooms behind my eyes. "Are you sure?"

Jessica's expression softens. "Would I lie to you?"

I pause, considering. Despite our occasional sibling rivalry, Jessica has always been brutally honest with me. "I guess not," I concede reluctantly.

The room falls into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the steady beep of the heart monitor. I fidget with the scratchy hospital blanket, trying to make sense of this bizarre situation.

"So, uh," I begin, clearing my throat, "how long ago did the truck hit me?"

Claire's brow furrows in confusion. "What truck?"

Jessica's eyes widen, and she exchanges a worried glance with Claire. "He mentioned a truck earlier, too," she says, her voice laced with concern.

Claire turns back to me, her brown eyes searching my face. "Adam, do you... do you not remember what happened to you?"

I look at them, lost and confused. "What do you mean? I was at work on the 22nd floor like usual, reading a web novel instead of working because, you know, I was being lazy. I was talking with Connor, and then bam! I got blasted by a fucking truck that came flying through the window. It was insane, glass everywhere, the truck's grille filling my vision. I thought I was done for."

Claire's face pales, her eyes widening in shock. "Honey, you don't have a job or know anyone named Connor."

"You weren't hit by a truck, Adam." Jessica looks nervous, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "You were rap…"

Claire cuts her off sharply, shooting her a warning glance. "You were attacked at night 3 weeks ago on the street," she says hurriedly. "You were walking home, and you got jumped by a group of women."

I blink, trying to process this information. "But... that can't be right. I remember the truck so vividly."

Claire reaches out, gently taking my hand in hers. Her touch feels foreign, yet strangely familiar. "Adam, sweetie, there was no truck. You've been in a coma for three weeks. The doctors... they weren't sure if you'd ever wake up."

I shake my head, wincing at the dull throb that accompanies the movement. "No, no, that can't be right. Connor and I were joking about trucks crashing into buildings. We were laughing about it!"

Jessica sighs heavily. "Adam, listen to your story. A truck smashing into the 22nd floor? That's ridiculous."

"I know," I insist, frustration creeping into my voice. "That's what Connor and I laughed about. It was ridiculous, but then it actually happened!"

Claire flashes Jessica an annoyed look, her lips pressing into a thin line. "He needs to process this at his own pace," she says, her tone clipped.

Jessica holds up her hands in surrender. "You're right, you're right," she concedes, though I can see the worry still etched on her face.

Claire turns back to me, her eyes softening as she wraps her arms around me once more.

"Thank God you're okay," she whispers, her breath warm against my ear. Her fingers dig into my back as if she's afraid I might disappear if she lets go.

As I awkwardly return the hug, I can't help but notice Jessica's expression. She's watching Claire with a mixture of suspicion and concern, her green eyes narrowed slightly. There's a tension in her shoulders like she's ready to spring into action at any moment.

"I'm sorry I don't remember you, Claire." I mumble into her hair."

She tenses for a moment, then relaxes, digging her face deeper into the crook of my neck. Her breath is warm against my skin as she whispers, so softly I don't think Jessica can hear it, "Maybe it's better this way. We can fall in love all over again."

There's something in her tone, a hint of relief, that doesn't quite fit. She seems to be holding something back, but I can't put my finger on what. I continue patting her back, my mind racing.

"This will certainly be an adjustment." I voice a thought out loud.

*****

I must've dozed off at some point. When I open my eyes again, the room is dim and quiet. The steady beep of the heart monitor is the only sound breaking the silence. I blink groggily, trying to get my bearings.

Jessica's gone. She said something about coming back tomorrow. Claire was sticking around though. I scan the room, but she's not here either. The door's shut tight.

I shift in the bed, wincing at the dull ache in my muscles. As I turn my head, I catch a glimpse of movement through the window in the door. Claire's out there, talking to someone.

I squint, trying to make out who she's with. It's a tall woman, soaring over Claire by at least a head. She's got long blonde hair cascading down her back, and 'holy shit, are those red eyes?' They're practically glowing in the dim hallway light.

Claire looks stressed, her hands moving in nervous gestures as she speaks. The blonde woman seems annoyed, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her expression is thunderous, those red eyes narrowed dangerously.

I strain to hear what they're saying, but the door muffles their voices. Claire's shoulders are hunched like she's trying to make herself smaller. The blonde woman leans in close, saying something that makes Claire flinch.

Suddenly, as if sensing my gaze, the blonde woman's head snaps towards me. Those crimson eyes lock onto mine, and I feel a chill run down my spine. Her gaze is predatory, almost hungry. A slow, wicked smile spreads across her face.

I can't help but stare, transfixed by the statuesque blonde. She's like something out of a dream.

She's tall, impossibly tall. At least 6'4". Her face is a masterpiece of sharp angles and soft curves, high cheekbones, and full lips quirked in a knowing smirk.

Her body is a work of art, all dangerous curves barely contained by an expensive-looking tailored suit. The jacket strains slightly across her ample chest. There's an aura of power around her, raw and primal.

Since she's here, she might know me, so I raise my hand in a weak wave. Her smirk widens, becoming downright carnivorous. Those crimson eyes seem to burn even brighter as she returns the wave, her movements slow and deliberate.

Claire notices our interaction and whips her head around to look at me. Her eyes are wide with worry, darting nervously between me and the blonde goddess. She says something urgently to the taller woman, who merely chuckles in response.

"I wonder who that tall lady is," I mutter to myself as I lay back down in my bed.