Silas Overgard was getting sick of it. He was sick of spending long days perched in his cubicle, speaking to his coworkers only when spoken to, and sipping coffee that always turned lukewarm before he was even half done with it. He was sick of watching the same old sitcoms every night, and eating the same old frozen meals for dinner, and sitting at the same old armchair by the window that overlooked the city. It was a decent view, sure, but he was sick of it. 

    Today was Sunday. His weekend was going by in a blur, like it normally did, and he was sick of that too, so he made the decision to do something spontaneous. He wasn’t sure what, yet, but he was determined to get out of the house and do something for a change. 

    Nearly an hour of intense consideration passed before he settled upon a visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He’d been living in New York City for seven years and still had yet to see it, despite his claims of appreciation for the talent of a true, well-rounded artist. He bought himself a ticket and set out for the subway. 

    Silas walked almost everywhere. He did not have a car, and he did not feel that he needed one. He didn’t like to drive much, anyhow. The lack of control within a taxicab didn’t appeal to him, either. He preferred his own set of strong, capable legs, and loved the freedom it gave his mind. He didn’t have to focus on anything besides his destination. 

    Today, his destination would be much more difficult to reach by foot; taking the train would be a more feasible option, and Silas valued feasibility. He also valued personal space, and the promise of no mysterious odors wafting through the air, neither of which this particular train could provide, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that now. He simply sat up straighter in his seat and began to breathe through his mouth. 

    Silas rode in thoughtful silence for a while, awaiting his upcoming adventure. He wasn’t used to the feeling of being genuinely excited about something. It was refreshing, and he was certain that nothing would be able to dampen his newfound spirit. 

    That is, until the train came to its next stop. 

    It had been stopping consistently throughout the entire ride, which was no bother to Silas at all. He was not in a hurry. He had earlier made the mental decision to cherish each moment as it happened, in an attempt to quit rushing through everything he took part in. It had been working thus far, and he was pleased with himself. But then the train doors opened, and in stepped a woman—a woman that Silas thought nothing of at first glance, but upon closer inspection, he realized that he knew tremendously well. Or, rather, he had before. Before the incident occured. The incident that had been haunting his conscience for the past eight years. 

    She stumbled over to the bench across from him and sat down with a grunt. She reeked of booze, and looked as if she hadn’t slept in several days. The older woman seated beside her scooted away, scowling at her ill-mannered presence. 

    Silas could no longer breathe. All he could do was stare at her blankly, dread and nausea slowly overtaking him. She had yet to notice him, and he was praying that it would stay that way—even so, he was unable to tear his eyes away from her. They were glued in place, glossing over and refusing to blink. 

    Before he understood what was happening, he found himself back in the car, freshly eighteen and pleasantly buzzed. Lola was in the passenger seat, her bare feet propped up on the dashboard. Neither of them knew what time it was, and the stars overhead did little to illuminate the dark road ahead of them. The music was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of their laughter. The night felt impossibly young. 

    Despite the looming threat of school in the morning, Silas and Lola were both at ease as they drove along, singing happily and passing the bottle of rum back and forth. Silas knew that what he was doing wasn’t smart, but he’d do anything to please Lola, even the riskiest of her ideas. He loved her more than he had ever loved anyone. He couldn’t imagine life without her. 

    The urge to tell her this became desperate. “I love you, Lola,” he blurted, and then held his breath. They had never said those words out loud before. 

    She glanced at him, smiling. “I know,” she said. “I love you, too.” 

    An overwhelming sense of gratitude surged through him, gratitude for all that he’d been blessed with and all that would be a part of his oncoming future. He had so much to appreciate. So much to be thankful for. So much life to live. 

    He slipped the bottle out of Lola’s grasp and took a swig, marveling in her beauty. So much to adore. He continued to watch her as they rounded the bend. So much to love. 

    And, unfortunately, so much to lose. 

    He slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. The airbags had deployed, Lola’s screams were piercing, and the unsuspecting pickup truck was settled in the ditch, smoke filling the air. 

    Silas froze. His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel. Lola’s screams were fading into sobs. The world around them seemed to slow. 

    After at least a minute had crawled by, Lola went quiet. Silas gingerly pulled his hands into his lap. “Lola,” he said stiffly. She didn’t answer. “Lola, we have to go look.”

    Her entire body was shaking, drenched in a layer of horrified sweat. “I can’t.” 

    “But we have to,” he said, almost pleadingly. “I need to see.” 

    Lola shook her head curtly. “I don’t want to see.” 

    “What do you want to do, then? Just leave them there?” Silas was breathing hard now, an excruciating weight pushing down on his lungs, and his stomach was turning viciously. It would only be a matter of time before it was emptied of its contents. 

    “No. I don’t know.” Lola’s voice wavered. “I’m just scared.” 

    Silas closed his eyes, trying to control the queasiness. “I’m scared, too, but what if they’re dead, Lola? What if I f*cking killed them?” 

    Lola remained silent for a few seconds, considering this. Then, in a tone much too calm for comfort, she said, “You didn’t.” 

    “I might’ve!” Silas protested. “We won’t know for sure until we’ve looked!” 

    “No,” said Lola, leveling her gaze at him. “You didn’t. Because we were never here. Whoever’s in that truck made the mistake of drunk driving all on their own. We had nothing to do with it.” She stared at Silas without an ounce of expression, until he finally caught on. 

    “What? Lola. No.” 

    “Yes, Silas. It’s the only way! Do you want to go to prison? You’re an adult now. And there’s alcohol in your system. They’ll know it wasn’t a simple accident.” Her eyes were boring into him with a ferocity he’d never seen in her before. “Do you want that to happen? Do you want to rot away in a jail cell?” 

Do you want to rot away in a jail cell? The words echoed sharply through her mind, adding to the already-throbbing headache she’d been suffering through all morning. Lola Hernandez slumped down in her seat, and watched with mild interest as the man across the aisle—the man to whom she had once uttered those harsh words—gaped at her. 

She didn’t know whether or not she should say something. What would she have to say to him, anyway? This was the first time they had crossed paths in, what was it, seven years? Silas had never been able to look at her the same after that night with the pickup truck. As if he hadn’t been the one behind the wheel. The one who’d done the killing. 

It was absurd, the way he had shut her out. He would probably still be in prison today if it weren’t for Lola’s quick thinking. Not everyone would have thought to plant the rum. To pour it down the driver’s open throat, suspended in a permanent state of shock. The scene had been gruesome, no doubt, but what Silas didn’t know was that Lola had seen worse. 

Without her, he likely would have driven home with his car in shambles, and parked it in the driveway on full display. Without her, he wouldn’t have had anybody to help him plunge that evidence into the bottom of the lake, taking with it his chance of being linked to the crime. His parents were furious that the police never found their stolen vehicle, but that was of no importance to Lola. She and Silas were both off the hook. 

She’d thought that—as naive as it sounded—that would be enough for him, but it wasn’t. He had drifted away from her so quickly that she’d almost convinced herself he’d never really existed. It was exhausting, the pain that followed. The never-ending guilt. The agonizing withdrawals every time she tried to get clean. Just the sight of him served as another reminder of the shitshow of a life that she had always been destined for. 

No, she wouldn’t say anything. He didn’t deserve it. He deserved nothing but the miserable cycle of order and nothingness that he had been destined for.

Lola got off at the next stop, and didn’t look back.